#I could actually talk about these damn ties all day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aeyumicore · 7 months

Text

your fragrance

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: rafayel x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 10.4k (how?????)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, switch!raf (like he’s both sub and dom in this, if you don’t like that then this may not be for you), knee humping, standing sex, against the wall sex, sorta rough sex, references to rafayel’s lore (no more than what’s talked about the actual memory), dry humping, slightly aphrodisiac sex, dub con if you squint really really really hard, ejaculating in pants, panty ripping, pheromone kink, lots of teasing (calling raf a cat/kitty), cum play? kinda, nipple teasing, slight use of y/n, reader is mc, second person pov

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: the raf fic is here!! based off the 5* rafayel memory ‘your fragrance.’ the build up is realllllllly long on this one since i wanted to stay as true to the memory as possible. you can def just skip to the smut if you’d like!

i struggled to write raf a lot but enjoyed it so much like he’s so fun to write. i’m def a sub girly so i love writing dom partners, thankfully i hc raf as a switch. if you do not like fics where raf is a switch, then this may not be for you!

i can’t believe this fic ended up being 10k words too, i was thinking it would be a quick lil smut lol. i don’t even know how my zayne fic ended up being my shortest fic. enjoy my loves!

also this is dedicated to my bestie who is actually rafayel’s number one slut. follow her on x @/myusuchaa for so much good raf and other purple haired boy content. she is the master of rafayel lore, truly his wifey. a queen to us all.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

You let out an exasperated sigh as your foot taps irritably against the protective painting tarp Rafayel always has laid out on the ground of his makeshift art studio, stray paint brushes strewn about. Impatiently, you waited for Rafayel to finish changing on the couch behind you, careful not to peek.

Somehow, being Rafayel’s bodyguard also made you his keeper. And Rafayel was not easy to keep. Always dragging you with him on odd trips even if you had work, pestering you at all hours of the day and night, disappearing and unable to be contacted for days on end. This particular time it was the latter; Rafayel had gone mia three days before his important collab launch party with a high end perfume brand. Now, on the night of the party, Rafayel was still unable to be reached.

Thomas had called you, in a sheer panic, as he always did when he needed help wrangling Rafayel. He knew you were the only one in this world that could level with Rafayel. And he’d never told you this before, but you were also the only one who could bend Rafayel’s unbreakable stubbornness; a perfect match for the purple-haired obstinate artist. And thus, Thomas had personally designated you as Rafayel’s keeper.

And so, you found yourself at Rafayel’s massive house, in the most extravagant evening dress you owned, hauling him off to his own damn party.

His annoyingly alluring voice cuts into the silence of the studio, "You can turn around now and give me a hand with something else.” You snap around to be met with the sight of Rafayel, irritatingly and devilishly handsome in his expensive white dress shirt and designer cardigan, leaning lazily against the sofa with the tie you’d previously used to tie his hands with, woven in between his fingers. He grins and holds it up to you expectantly, "Put this on for me.”

"Don’t you have hands?” You snap, but your feet have a mind of their own, and you’re already approaching him on the sofa.

"My hands are numb from being tied up by you for so long.” You roll your eyes, knowing he’s being dramatic. While he waits deceptively patiently for you to give in, he leisurely takes a wristwatch out of his pocket to put on, as if he’s got all the time in the world. "Clock’s ticking, keep it up and we’ll be late at this rate.”

You gape at him. The sheer audacity of this man, as if you’re the reason he’d be late. He only smirks at you, and it just infuriates you all the more. How he could so easily annoy the hell out of you and look so beautiful doing it. But you keep your mouth shut, and exasperatedly lean down to put on his tie for him, doing your best not to strangle him with it. It feels strangely intimate, and the brief reprieve finally gives you an opportunity to speak to him.

"Thomas said you have to be present for all parts of the event. There will be reporters at the entrance taking photos, and…” you rattle off, before you realize Rafayel is being uncharacteristically silent, "Are you even listening?”

You look up from the tie in your fingers to glance at Rafayel’s face. He doesn’t look the least bit interested in your words, instead his eyes are fixated on your wrist. You tap his chest to get his attention but he remains still, eyes still on your hands atop his collarbones. You curiously wave your hand in front of his face, hoping to snap him out of his trance. Fortunately you do, but unfortunately Rafayel grabs your wrist suddenly and urgently.

“...what’s the matter?” The bewilderment is unmistakable in your voice. You’re used to Rafayel’s erratic and quirky behavior, but this was alarming, even to you.

Finally his gaze breaks away from your wrist and he speaks, "I heard you talking about the event…” but just as quickly as you’d diverted his attention, it's back on your wrist. His voice is unusually clouded, deeper than usual. His eyes are back on your wrist that’s enclosed in his fingers, as a strange expression crosses his face. It almost feels as if he’s trying to hold himself back, but you’re unsure from what.

"Your hand…” he trails off, inexplicable emotions caught in his hoarse voice. He suddenly tugs you towards him by your wrist, and you stumble forward.

"Rafayel?! Wait!” As you fall forward, your feet run out of space and hit the bottom of the sofa, causing you to tumble on top of him. He catches you easily, sitting you on top of his lap while he brings your captured wrist right up to the side of his face. The awkward position forces you to settle your legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him against the designer couch. The half knotted tie comes undone and you’re left clutching the smooth material in your hands. If it weren’t for the compromising position you found you and Rafayel in, you'd be slightly disappointed at seeing your hard work unraveled.

The grip on your wrist tightens impossibly, almost possessively, "Hold still.” His command is not totally unusual; Rafayel is always demanding things of you, his precious bodyguard. But his voice comes out in a strange and sensual husk, leaving you confused, nervous, and weirdly burning. His silky smooth dress pants shuffle under you, and you’re reminded of the expensive clothes you’re pressed up against, likely worth more than a month of your hunter salary.

"Your suit! It’ll get wrinkled.”

"I don’t care…let me smell this…” he trails off, his voice sounding impossibly far away. You can feel the tickle of his inhale against your wrist and it makes you shiver, goosebumps forming under his touch.

"What is that?” He asks, mostly to himself, lost in his own little world, "It smells good. And smells familiar…”

It wasn’t at all uncommon for Rafayel to be mysterious and even enigmatic, but this was a whole other level of confusion for you, "What…what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

His behavior is starting to worry you. He’s unusually breathless, and you can see a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. The last thing you needed was him getting sick! You could already hear his needy whines in your head at the mere thought. Demanding to be taken care of and waited on. You almost want to smile at the thought of it; you act constantly annoyed with Rafayel but deep down you know you can’t live without his antics.

"No, I'm fine. Very well, in fact,” but despite his words, Rafayel sounds anything but. His voice, normally a bright and charming, albeit annoying, timbre, is now a hoarse and needy rasp. His ticklish touch on the inside of your wrist reminds you of where you got the perfume that he was so intoxicated by.

"Come to think of it...I tried an unreleased fragrance in the back office of the exhibition hall. It was made with special ingredients,” you scratch your chin with your free hand, trying your best to recall the name of it.

"Perfume? You spritzed the perfume sample on your wrist?”

You glance at him, concern and confusion written all over your face. Isn’t that what you do with perfumes? Rafayel shifts his gaze to your eyes, but his breath remains on the inside of your wrist. It’s deafeningly silent and you realize the scent of the perfume gradually grows stronger as your body temperature rises at the proximity of your body to Rafayel’s. You’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you’re sitting on his lap, and his face is so very close to your own.

He’s still lost in his own thoughts as he murmurs, more to himself than you, "It’s a bit bitter like fermented plants…but very fragrant.”

"It could be a mixture of artificial chemical stuff. Now, unhand me please,” you’re desperate to detach yourself from him, unsure if you can trust your body when it’s pressed so readily upon Rafayel’s own hard and sturdy stature.

"No.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity. But before you can berate him, he’s reaching his free hand to undo the buttons of his collar, as if the clothing is restricting him and making it hard to breath. His purple eyes are glazed over, and a beautiful faint blush paints his cheeks. His exposed collar and chest have you biting back your words, completely losing your train of thought. You squirm at the sight, but Rafayel’s hand on your thighs grip you in place, not letting you move a single inch.

"I could’ve sworn I've smelled this fragrance before,” he presses your hand against his cheek as he continues to slowly inhale the scent by the mouthful. It wouldn’t be completely out of the question, the unreleased scent had been developed for his artworks for the collaboration, so it’s very likely he could’ve sampled it during production.

"We can worry about it later. Let’s go. Everyone is waiting” you urge, feeling yourself blush as he shifts slightly under you, brushing against your sensitive inner thighs. You pull your hand away from his cheek, only for Rafayel to yank it back, like a child unwilling to share his favorite toy.

"Let me smell it again,” his demand is meant to be gentle, but comes out rough and urgent. You sigh, letting him melt into your hand again. It’s almost endearing; you quite like being so intimate with Rafayel.

"You know, for someone who hates cats, you sure are acting like one,” you tease, "A kitty that found some catnip to be exact.

The mere mention of cats is usually enough to set Rafayel off, pouting like a little baby that’s been teased. But instead, he just distractedly responds, "So then are you a cat? I am not a cat. And also, you’re not allowed to say that. I just couldn’t resist…”

You roll your eyes but can’t help but grin at his adorableness, tempted to just give in to his touch, savoring every moment you possibly can before the bubble bursts.

"What is this weird perfume…” he’s talking to himself again, inspecting your hand carefully. His jumbled thoughts have you worried for him again. Although Rafayel did often have energy that bordered on adhd, this was much more intense than that.

"Are you alright?” You repeat, softly. He doesn’t respond, but leans his cheek into your touch, his lips turning so they’re practically kissing your palm. Like this, he inhales the scent with his parted lips. His adam's apple bobs as he gulps, almost feverishly. His hand reaches to further loosen his collared shirt, pulling it open to let the cool air soothe his burning skin.

"It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…” his words both confuse and scare you. You’re growing increasingly worried about his flushed and sweaty complexion, his collarbones shining under the faint glow of the city lights through the massive windows. His words fill you with a terror you do not understand.

Rafayel holds the area between the bridge of his nose and his forehead, like his head is pounding, before returning to grip the collar of his dress shirt. His hand that holds yours is shaky as he rocks slowly underneath you, inhaling as much of the perfume as he can. His lap brushes against yours and your brain short circuits at the feeling of him pressed against you.

"H-huh?” Is the only thing you’re capable of getting out.

"Who gave you the perfume? Who sent it?” His questions are increasingly alarming you, but you do your best to keep calm. You can tell he’s nervous as well, and the sight makes your chest squeeze. Wanting to comfort him, you cup his cheek in your palm and he leans into the touch so contentedly and groaning in satisfaction. Truly like a cat.

You blushed despite yourself. It was so difficult to not be aroused in this compromising position. You’d long since had a crush on Rafayel, always craving his silly antics and theatrics. Missing him intensely when he’d disappear for days at a time.

"No one. Um, why do you look like you’re drunk?” You try to deflect from the burning between your thighs, hoping he can’t notice how hot and bothered you’ve become.

"I’m not drunk. I just don’t like the scent,” he pouts, but nuzzles your hand against his cheek like a cat getting cheek scratches. He turns his lips back into your palm, opening his mouth until you can feel his teeth graze your skin. He groans as he continues to inhale the scent, making you bite back a moan of your own at his gentle nibbles.

"Rafayel…you…” but you find yourself at a loss for words as he continues to breathe in your scent like it's the oxygen he needs to survive. Your own breaths start to come out in shallow pants, and you squirm in his lap. Rafayel moans softly into your palm, biting down gently to get you to stop.

"Are you trying to run away again?” He asks, almost painfully, his eyes piercing into yours, so intense and searching. The glassy look in them reminds you of how much you’re worried about his current well being.

"Rafayel, you don’t look so good. Shouldnt you go to the doctor?” You use the hand Rafayel isn’t gripping to take his face between your free fingers and inspect his beautiful and flushed features.

Rafayel’s breath hitches at your touch, goose flesh littering the skin where your touch singes, "I’m not going anywhere.” And though he doesn’t say it, you can feel what’s left unsaid.

And neither are you.

But he continues, dazed, "You’re gonna lock me up again…you’re with them. I just know it. Don’t think I'm unaware of what you’re about to do.” He has both your wrists in his hands now, gripping them on either side of his neck. "Y/n, I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”

Though his words scare the shit out of you, you’re unable to concentrate on anything but his eyes that are trained on your neck, where your pulse thrums erratically in anticipation. You’re suddenly hyper aware that your heart is beating so fast you can hardly hear him anymore, despite his face being mere inches from yours. Your breath is close enough to mingle with his. It seems he notices too, because he inhales deeply and throws his head back, gasping.

It's then you realize it's not just the scent of the perfume that's setting Rafayel off, but your own scent mingled with it.

"Rafayel, snap out of it!” You beg. But Rafayel can’t seem to hear you as his cold hand grips the side of your neck, where you’d also dabbed the perfume along. Your breath catches in your throat at the icy touch, unsure of what to do.

Rafayel senses your hesitation, "Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything to you.” His voice is a throaty groan, and you’re honestly unsure if that’s even what you want. His body is almost on top of yours now, his breath deafening in your ear. And all you can think about is how you’d wish he’d press into you harder, until you’re suffocating, only able to breathe him in.

But you go with your better judgment, pushing him gently, putting some distance between the two of you. He glances up from your neck, eyes unfocused, and says nothing. He finds himself staring at your lips that are parted slightly to let out the short pants of breath you’re wheezing out. He leans in slowly so he can breathe in as much of you as he possibly can, just nearly closing the proximity between your lips.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your little bubble with Rafayel, "Its Thomas! He probably wants to remind us of the time. Let's head out!” You shove your phone until Rafayel’s hands, forcing him to take Thomas’s call for you.

While he’s distracted, you slip out from beneath him and bolt to the nearest bathroom. As you move your legs, you’re made acutely aware of the slick that has formed in your panties. But you focus first on furiously washing off the scent from your wrists and neck. As you scrub, you glance up at the mirror in front of you. You swear at the site of yourself, unbelievably disheveled and undeniably aroused.

As you continue to adamantly scrub, you can faintly make out Rafayel on the phone with Thomas, just outside.

"No, we’re not going to make it. I need to take care of something urgent. Don’t call again please, bye.” When you turn off the faucet, you go to lean against the wall adjacent to the sink, trying to steady yourself and collect your thoughts. You turn around and gently rest your forehead against the wall, sighing into the cool surface against your burning skin, willing the arousal between your legs to go away. You try to remind yourself of poor Thomas all alone at the exhibition right now. Your guilt is short lived as you hear the patter of Rafayel’s feet approaching the bathroom.

"Where are you going?” Rafayel’s words are right behind you, and his hand presses against the bathroom wall that your forehead rests on. You whip around and find yourself trapped between Rafayel’s hard body and the solid wall behind you. You back up instinctively, but find yourself hitting the cold surface before you even take a single step back.

"Gotcha,” Rafayel smirks softly, and you tremble at his proximity to you. His other hand grips a towel bar to your left, while his other hand leans against the wall to your right, so you’re utterly trapped against him. He’s so close, close enough that you can feel his rapid breaths fanning across your parted lips. As Rafayel’s eyes roam all over you, from your lips to your heaving chest, you feel very much like a lamb caught in a lion’s den. Except you don’t want to escape.

"Rafayel…” you murmur using both your hands to gently push against his chest, unintentionally brushing against the exposed skin below his collar, under his unbuttoned dress shirt. You’re hoping he’ll have mercy and release you, afraid that the palpable sexual tension in the air would cloud your, and Rafayel’s, judgment.

He shivers as your wet hands brush against his chest, knuckles turning white as they grip the towel bar next to you. His breath comes out in shallow pants, chest heaving up and down, with a light sheen of sweat painting his pale skin. The sight snaps you out of the moment, reminding you that Rafayel seems like he might have a fever.

"Let’s go to the hospital...I’m worried about you,” your hands shift to grip his open shirt, bringing the fabric together to cover him up. Rafayel’s hand releases the towel bar to take both of your hands into his, trapping them against his chest.

"What will it take for you to believe that I'm okay? I’m exactly where I want to be,” his gruff voice invades all your senses while his eyes burn holes through your own. He presses himself further into you, until his forearm is resting against the wall above you, only your joined hands pressed against his chest separating the two of you. He leans down, his face now impossibly close to yours, and for a second you find yourself lost in his purple and blue cosmic eyes.

You take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself to reality, and remind yourself that Rafayel’s actions are only fueled by the strange effects the perfume has on him. He’s not in his right mind, and you need to think for him.

You whisper, craning your neck up to look into his eyes, "You’re not yourself right now. Let me help you, I can take you to the doctor.”

Rafayel leans down, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in, the smell of the perfume, still potent despite the scrubbing, mixed with your pheromones invading his very being. Slowly, almost like it pains him to do so, he lifts his head away from you. He releases your hands and uses that same hand that gripped them to lift your chin towards him.

"Do you know the only thing you could do that would help me?” His hooded eyes lock yours in. His voice is the soft purr you know and love, slightly tinged with a rough and carnal desire that shakes you to your core.

"Name it. I’ll do it for you.“ part of you knows that Rafayel isn’t going to ask you for anything regarding his health but you can’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth. You’re stepping into very dangerous territory and you can’t hold yourself back.

"Kiss me,” his voice is low, but the assertive demand in it is undeniable. His command makes you shift in between his legs against the wall, becoming hyper aware of how deeply your bodies pressed into each other. You know you want to, you’ve wanted to for some time now. But you can’t shake the idea that the strange effects of the perfume are clouding Rafayel’s judgment and inhibitions.

"R-Rafayel…” you stutter hesitantly. Trembling ever so slightly, you lean in to peck his flushed cheek. You watch, slightly amused, as Rafayel’s ears get even pinker.

"Why must you always make me beg?” He whines. His lips stick out in a signature Rafayel pout, one you’ve grown to absolutely adore, no matter how annoying it can be.

You can’t help but laugh breathlessly, your chin still in his grip, "I don’t make you. You just love to beg.“

With your face still in his grip, he sighs dramatically, "Then I won’t beg anymore.” He brings his face to yours and captures your lips with his. He swallows your surprised squeak, which is quickly replaced by a throaty moan of longing and anticipation. Rafayel absolutely devours your noises, his lips so commanding against your own, bending them to his every will. They’re so soft, and you can’t help but think they fit so perfectly slotted against your own.

Though you can taste the urgency on him, Rafayel takes his time with you, engraving the taste and feel of you in his mind forever. He takes it so tortuously and deliciously slow that you find yourself nibbling on his bottom lip, begging him to take you fully.

You can just feel his maddening smirk against your lips. Instead of indulging you, Rafayel laces his practiced fingers under your dress’s skirt and onto your thighs. Only when you yelp in surprise does he finally slip his tongue into your mouth, always intentionally doing things to take you by surprise.

The new sensation of your tongues on each other seems to have Rafayel equally feral, because you feel the unmistakable press of his erection into your stomach. Needing to do something with your hands, you trace the outlines of his chest muscles, enjoying the feel of them finally against your fingers.

Rafayel’s hands venture to your back, expertly undoing the zipper of your dress, and then your bra. Gasping into his open mouth as his fingers return to the pebbling skin of your nipples. He gives a harsh flick to each, and your knees buckle against the sensitivity. You sink down against the wall, lips still attached to his for dear life, but Rafayel shifts so that he catches you with his knee instead. The mid length black dress your wore rides up and serves as a sheer layer of protection between your dampening panties and his knee. The friction of his leg against your crotch is unbearable, forcing you to throw your head back in pleasure.

Your reaction only serves to spur Rafayel further, as he begins to knead his knee into your cunt slowly. Your body turns to mush at the ecstasy of his knee against your most sensitive region, but Rafayel holds you steady with his hands gripping you from the swell of your underboobs.

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, he inhales again. Unbeknownst to you, he practically comes undone at the smell of you alone, "You say I'm always whining but look at you.”

You whimper at his teasing words right against your ear, clutching the back of his neck for support as he continues to hump his knee into you.

Suddenly, Rafayel stops, letting his knee still against your increasingly damp cunt. You can’t help but whine as you look up into his amused eyes. There’s mischief in them as he grins, "I’m getting tired. You’re going to have to do the work.”

Despite your lust clouded brain, you can still think coherently enough to see through his brattiness. You narrow your eyes at him, "You’re tired? Let me take you to the hospital. I knew you weren’t feeling well.” You duck down to escape his arms that cage you in, but he only lowers them so that they now trap you at the waist instead.

"You’re so mean to me Y/N,” he huffs, "Can’t you tell how vulnerable I am right now?”

"Because of the perfume? Why does it affect you so much?” You murmur, squeezing his cheeks slightly.

From Rafayel’s expression you can tell he’s unwilling to share too much information. And as annoying as that was, you trusted him wholeheartedly and knew better than to prod him too much. You would take what you could get.

He rests his head on your shoulder, unwilling to meet your stare. Dusting your hair behind your ear, he sniffs you again, practically consuming the scent. You shiver at the slight breeze he creates at your exposed neck, "I-It’s not just the perfume. I’ve dealt with this scent before, and I've developed a tolerance to it.”

You hold his neck against your shoulder, and gently knead his damp skin, letting him inhale the smell like his life depended on it, "Then why?”

Rafayel sighs, releasing the wall behind you but instead trapping you by wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing your bodies together. You sigh in satisfaction as his erection presses warmly against you again, your pussy craving his touch

Finally he speaks, but his voice is low and almost feels dangerous, "The marine plant the perfume is extracted from…on its own no longer does anything to me. But when it’s exposed to another scent that I cannot control myself around…the reaction it causes can be extremely potent.”

The sensations of his body pressed tightly against yours makes your brain practically non-functional, so you’re not following his train of thought, so you ask dumbly, "Like the air?”

You can practically hear Rafayel rolling his eyes in his voice, "I need air to survive but do you think I can’t control myself at all times of the day?”

"Okay well I'm confused! And to be fair you do act like an idiot at all times of the day so how am I supposed to know?!” He ignores you, taking another lungfull of the scent on your skin into his body. This time, he growls through an intense shiver, his grip on your body tightening against him. As if the very smell of your skin drove him into a lust filled craze.

And that’s when you realize what he meant.

"O-oh,” is all you can squeak out. Strangely enough, the idea that your scent is what is driving Rafayel to madness makes you leak further into the puddle that had formed in your panties.

Rafayel groans again, one his fists releasing your body to gently pound into the wall behind you, "I-I can smell the arousal in your scent. It’s driving me insane.”

Knowing he can smell the dampness between your thighs is both utterly embarrassing and completely erotic. Your heart lurches, wanting nothing but to take his discomfort away and make him feel good, "H-how can I help you?”

Reluctantly, he removes his chin off your shoulder and turns to face you, gripping your biceps in his hands, almost to the point of pain, "Do you mean that? Because you can’t take it back.”

Shivering at the implications of his words, you nod slowly but more sure than ever, "Yes. Let me help you. I want to help you”

"I-If you want to help me…” Rafayel’s voice is doubtful, like he’s scared you will deny him before he’s even gotten the chance to put his request out. Between your thighs, you feel his knee creeping its way back against your leaking cunt. The shock to your recovering clit causes you to clutch Rafayel’s firm shoulders and throw your head back with a breathy moan. Rafayel feeds off your pleasure, imagining what you would sound like when you were actually stuffed to the brim with him.

"I want...I need to see you cum all over me,” Rafayels throaty plea makes you blush profusely. You almost want to smack him across the head for his shameless words, but the pout on his face reminds you that he’s absolutely serious that this will help him. That seeing you come undone for him will help take the edge off of the effect the perfume is having on him.

"O-okay.” You gulp, nodding. The relief on his face is mixed with unbridled excitement that makes you squirm in anticipation of what's to come. Your feet shift, which causes you to grind down on his knee once more. Unable to withstand the unintentional teasing any further, you languidly moan and grind your leaking cunt against him to relieve some of the pulsing tension in your gut.

Your broken groans grace Rafayel’s ears and you can actually see his eyes light up with pleasure while his ears burn an even deeper red. His breath is shaky as he dips his head back down, inhaling deeply and dusting a kiss to the pulse point on your neck. You shiver as he gently uses his tongue against your neck to soothe his raging desire.

His reaction intrigues you, and you can’t help but want to tease him further, just a little. Peering at him through your eyelashes, you tip toe upwards so you can fan your bated breath across his face, letting him bask in your scent. Your tongue reaches out to gently swipe across his bottom lip, all the while you continue to pleasure yourself using his thigh.

Rafayel is unable to contain his excitement as he watches you use his body for your own gratification. He pants desperately into the crook of your neck, high off your pheromones invading all his senses. Through both your whiny moans, you reach out to graze his cock through his dress pants.

Rafayel hisses at the slightest contact, and his reaction ignites your confidence, provoking you further. You grip him through the silky smooth trousers, holding his throbbing erection in your hand, using your thumb to tease where you think his slit would be.

"Fuck–hah, be gentle please baby. M’sensitive,” he whines through gritted teeth. Your cunt clenches at his words, so teasing yet so endearing from Rafayel’s lips. You can feel the coil in your gut tightening as you continue to hump into Rafayel’s knee, using his body to chase your own high. Your black dress has ridden up, and now the only barrier between Rafayel’s knee and your sopping pussy is your equally soaked panties. You bite your lip and pray that Rafayel doesn’t notice the moist streaks that are starting to appear on his expensive pants.

Through your hooded eyes, you can see Rafayel is enjoying this just as much, if not more, than you are. His eyes are thick with lust, and you can practically see the pulse of his neck pound against his delicate skin. He desperately gasps for air, or maybe he’s trying to breathe more of you in, as you near your earth shattering climax.

"Touch yourself for me,” you purr at him, purposely jutting your bottom lip out in a pout. He obliges obediently, one hand quickly undoing his belt and slipping in to grab his unbelievably hard cock into his hands.

As you watch his face contort in pleasure, you’re filled with the need to grab him into your own hands. "Can I touch you too?” You ask innocently with wide eyes, imagining just how smooth he will feel in your bare hands.

Rafayel whines, still obediently pumping his cock in his hands, "Yes please, I need you to touch me.” At his plea, you let your hands find their way to his hands, still diligently pumping up and down. You wrap your smaller hand over his and mimic his motions. You gasp at the sheer size of him, your fingers just barely able to wrap around his girth. You can feel his veins throbbing against your fingers, begging you to continue further. The sheer amount of pre cum that already coats his fingers, and now yours, makes you wonder how delicious his spend would feel inside you instead.

"You’re so dam beautiful when you – fuck – use me like this. Dreamed about this for s’long,” he bites out, his hands finding your nipples once more. His long artist fingers tease you expertly, taking the peaks and rolling them gently.

His skilled hands and filthy words accelerate the intensity of your body’s peak quickly approaching you. His entire body is flushed and burns under the pumps of your fist, likely exacerbated by the effects of your scent. You respond to his endless stream of gasps and swears with breathless mewls of your own, whispering sweet words into his ear.

"Let me cum Rafayel, please. Want to cum for you s’bad,” you beg against him, despite him having given you all the power already, knowing the begging will drive him insane.

Rafayel drives his knee further into you as your core grinds into him like second nature. Your wrists vigorously pump his leaking cock, the thick heat of it feeling absolutely unreal against your palm. With your free hand you thread your fingers through his long soft hair, gripping gently. With a strangled groan Rafayel sinks his teeth into your neck, sucking at your pulse point as if he’s trying to devour your scent. Reluctantly he pulls away, throwing his head back in pure pleasure once more.

"F-fuck you drive me fucking crazy Y/N,” he pants, his thick length throbbing at your vigorous pumps along his shaft, almost as if his heart was beating inside it. The endless precum that falls from the tip coats your fingers, making a wet mess in Rafayel’s pants and your palm.

He groans in disappointment when you release his erection, but his eyes are trained on your every movement. Overcome with your aching need for the gorgeous purple haired man before you, you bring your soaked fingers to your lips and slowly insert your index and middle finger into your parted mouth. You make a show of letting your tongue lap up his essence from your digits, never letting your eyes break contact with his as you devour him off your fingers. You can’t help but let out a muffled moan at the taste of him, sweeter than you could have ever fathomed, so deliciously Rafayel.

He nearly hyperventilates as you peer at him through the tears of pleasure that had beaded onto your eyelashes. "Look at you, hah, like a fucking masterpiece,” his thumb caresses your lip as his breathless praises make you squirm against his knee. The pre cum on his thumb swipes onto your tongue, and you itch to taste him again. You shift yourself so that you can take his thumb into your mouth, using your tongue to swipe all the slick off his slender fingers.

Rafayel shivers at your touch, his mind a mush of lust and adoration as he watches your eyes roll back at the taste of his cum on your lips.

"You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, drunk off your pheromones invading his senses. You only smile at him and tip toe up to press your lips against his, wanting him to be able to taste himself on your tongue. He groans into your mouth at the odd sensation of being able to taste both himself and you all at once. Both his hands come up to thread in your hair, pulling you as deeply into him as he possibly can. You can feel his exposed chest against your own, his heart pounding rapidly against the swell of your dress covered breasts. The proximity lets him control every twitch of his quads against your cunt and you cry into his mouth at the stimulation.

As you continue to fuck yourself onto his knee, you find yourself on the cusp of your orgasm, nearly blinded by the ecstasy of his leg wedged between your thighs and the salty taste of his slick on your tongue, "Raf-Rafayel, m’gonna cum.”

Despite his furious blush, he smirks at you, as devilishly handsome as ever, "You gonna cum on my knee baby?”

If it weren’t for the cloud of pleasure fogging your every nerve you’d surely have a snarky retort to throw back at him, but the need to have him is so great you can’t think of a single thing. Without even needing to enter you, Rafayel has rendered you utterly fucked out.

So instead, you nod eagerly as your grinding against his knee becomes increasingly sloppy and erratic. Rafayel, entranced by the utterly fucked bliss in your eyes can’t stop himself from falling deeper into the abyss that is you: your voice, your eyes, your smell, your soul. He finds himself realizing that, though he’s seen millions of dollars in once in a lifetime artworks, even creating some of his own to add to this infinite world, the entire universe pales in comparison to you. The thick haze of emotions overwhelms him and he finds himself begging, once again.

"P-please cum for me, my love. I need to see it,” Rafayel begs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. The sensation makes your entire body shiver, causing your cunt to quiver further into his soaked knee. You’re not used to his voice, normally teasing and bratty voice, being this needy and adoring. It’s all enough to shove you viciously into your orgasm. You cling onto Rafayel as you release all over your panties and his leg, still languidly grinding into you.

You can’t stop the screams that rip out of your mouth, pure ecstasy and satisfaction laced into your very breath. Rafayel holds you tightly against him, cooing into your ear, talking you through the waves of pleasure, as the excruciating ecstasy makes tears spill out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

Rafayel eyes widen in pure awe as he watches every shiver and twitch of your orgasm against his leg. He throws his head back, swearing as your scent becomes exponentially more potent. The smell of your spend is thick in the air, mixing with your pheromones and the perfume until it overloads every nerve in his body. The throbbing in his cock grows unbearable even with nothing touching it, physically twitching uncontrollably as he explodes inside his slacks.

You cry out one last time when your thighs collapse from the intense climax, and Rafayel catches you by your waist, holding you steady against him and the wall behind you. The movements against your cunt slow as you ride out the final waves of your orgasm. With nothing separating his thigh from your cunt but your soaked panties, Rafayel can swear he feels your clit throb against him, the aftershocks of your climax wracking your body, just as the effects of his own orgasm sear through his.

You’re a panting and sobbing mess against his flushed chest. Your legs are completely useless, supported solely by Rafayel’s strong and safe arms around your waist and his knee still wedged between you. He rests his face in the mess of your hair, breathing you into him. Unbeknownst to you, Rafayel is reeling from his own climax as he holds you protectively against him, almost for dear life.

Through the comfortable silence that has blanketed the bathroom, Rafayel’s voice vibrates on the top of your head, "You smell so fucking good baby.”

You smile contentedly against Rafayel’s chest, your hands reaching up to smooth his curly hair away from his sweaty forehead, "Do you feel better?”

He smiles against your head, taking another deep breath of you into him. His voice is thick with satisfaction, but also unrelenting hunger, "Yes, but…” you wait for him to finish his thought, but there’s only silence.

"Rafayel?”

His reply comes out strangled and heavy against the top of your head, "I-I need more. I need you.”

You shift so you can look up at him. He doesn’t speak, but his hooded eyes tell you everything he’s thinking. Maybe it’s the post orgasm haze, but you find yourself being unable to deny Rafayel, wanting nothing more than to please him.

Getting on your toes so you can reach him, you let your bottom lip brush against his, relishing in the way his breath catches in his throat, and whisper, "Take me Rafayel.”

"Sh-shit,” he mumbles and presses his lips the rest of the short distance into yours. He tears into you with such torrid intensity that your knees buckle. As his palms hold your face in place, you cling onto his shoulders for support, the feeling of him enveloping you so overwhelmingly addicting. As your legs give out under the excruciating anticipation of what’s to come, you hook your knee into Rafayel’s waist. He grips your thigh, lifting it to hook around his back. His hand kneads into your bare skin as he reluctantly tears his lips from yours.

"You can’t stand anymore?” His cocky grin contrasts the deep blush on his cheeks. Before you can snap back at him, he hoists you up against the wall. Instinctively you yelp, wrapping your other leg against his waist as he holds you securely against the cool tiles behind you and his solid abdomen.

His lips simultaneously find yours again, locking deeply with an unrelenting passion that quite literally takes your breath away. As your breath becomes his, your thighs clench at the crushing intensity of his lips, wanting him deeper, harder. His tongue explores every inch of you, and you whimper into him at the pure need that was manifesting in your gut once more.

Feverishly, Rafayel breaks away, like he cannot possibly wait another second. He doesn’t even break a sweat as he balances your squirming body with one hand, his other hand reaching down to pull off his belt that he’d undone earlier.

You want to ask Rafayel if it’d be more comfortable to go to his bed or even the studio sofa, but you’re rendered speechless as he pulls his cock out of his slacks. You’d felt it in your hands earlier, but seeing it in all its glory under the light was a whole different story.

Rafayel definitely took pride in how he presented himself, his hair, his clothes; everything about him was pristine and curated just how he wanted others to see him. And his manhood was no different. He stood absolutely proud against his naval, his impressive length erect enough to touch just below his belly button, curving straight up. He’s unsurprisinglt well groomed, but with a dusting of pubic hair along his happy trail to his glorious cock. Like Rafayel himself, it was nothing short of art.

But then you noticed that he has trails of white cream smeared all over his delicious length, matted into the hair along his pelvis. Far too much to be just pre cum.

"D-did you cum earlier?” You can’t stop the grin that forms on your face as you realize Rafayel had finished earlier just watching you pleasure yourself against him. Literally came undone at the mere thought and sight of your pleasure.

Rafayel averts his eyes, hiding under his tousled bangs, his face tomato red, "Sh-shut up!” His reaction only makes you laugh and want to provoke him more.

"You’re such a bad boy Rafayel, cumming without me touching you,” you coo, using one hand to scratch his hair soothingly, "Just an eager little kitty for me.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow as his lips form his signature pouty grimace, "I am not a cat.”

You open your mouth to tease him more, but Rafayel pushes you harder into the wall so he can free one hand to rub his thumb against your lips. You yelp at the feel of the stone cold wall being pressed further into your burning skin. With his finger on your mouth, his eyebrow raise at you pointedly. His eyes light up with an intense and burning warning, "I’m about to fucking ravage you. Are you sure you want to keep teasing me?”

His words shut you up instantly. You shake your head vehemently and obediently, your cunt aching at his promises, needing nothing more than to be filled with him.

"Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand moving off your lips to reach under your dress, hooking his finger into the waistband of your panties. You shiver at the feel of his palm on your waist, as he attempts to pull them off of you. But he quickly grows impatiently frustrated at the tangle of your bodies.

"I'll buy you another pair, ‘kay?” You’re about to protest but Rafayel wastes absolutely no time, bunching the delicate material in his fist and tearing it off you. You gape as the sound of fabric ripping sounds in the air and watch the lace material fall to the ground.

"R-Rafayel! I liked that pair!” You scold, hitting his shoulder in a mixture of disbelief but also arousal at his primal urge. You know you should be more upset but you find yourself just melting into a puddle at his unabashed behavior. I mean honestly you wore those in hopes that he might see them anyways.

"I'll buy you as many as you want, if you let me rip them off of you,” he grins in feigned apologeticness. At your expression he continues, this time earnestly, "M’sorry, just can’t wait anymore.” And with those words, Rafayel sheaths himself into you. You yelp at the alarming stretch, his girth much more than you’re used to. Even with the thick slick of your combined orgasms, it’s slightly painful to accommodate him.

Simultaneously, Rafayel cries out huskily as he enters you, your grip down there absolutely strangling his erection. The finish of your first climax thickly coats his cock, but it’s just barely enough to offset the stretch from how thick he is. His strong arms hold you securely in place as his pelvis slowly begins thrusting up into you, pushing you up the wall at every stroke.

The angle he has you in meant every single thrust hits your cervix, his cock unbelievably lengthy. The curvature causes every stroke to drag deliciously against your g spot which makes you cream uncontrollably at each thrust, a ring of white forming at the base of his cock that splashes into you with every vigorous stroke. Your clit rubs roughly against his pelvis, his coarse happy trail rubbing against it with every movement, stimulating your body beyond belief.

"Fuck you’re taking me so well baby,” Rafayel moans into your ear, swallowing another mouthful of your aroma. You whimper as you feel him getting unbelievably harder at your scent alone, his solid flesh brushing against every single corner of your gummy walls. His veins throb inside of you as he twitches in pleasure. "So fucking tight, all for me yeah?”

"Raf, s’big. Feel s’good,” you slur, the haze of ecstasy starting to cloud your consciousness. His thrusts go harder, deeper, at your praises, and you cry out, unable to stop your thighs, and simultaneously your cunt, from tightening around him.

A strangled moan leaves his lips at your movements, his damp forehead pressing against yours as one of his hands leave your thighs to grip the wall next to you. "Sh-shit are you always this tight or is this jus’ for me?”

Before you can respond, Rafayel is babbling huskily into your ear again, "Wish you could see yourself right now. You look so beautiful, so fucked out, all for me huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut at his filthy words, and you can’t help but clench down on him again. Your profuse arousal coats the hair along his pelvis, creating the most filthy and lewd noises as Rafayel continues to bounce you onto his cock, his stamina absolutely unreal. Your lips chant his name, over and over, your brain only filled with him.

"Look at me Y/N, need to see you,” Rafayel begs into your neck, still absolutely inhaling your pheromones, getting harder at every intake, "Jesus you smell so fucking good.”

You force your eyes open, fighting the ecstasy from taking over completely. As he shifts to stare into your eyes, he gives you the most gorgeous Rafayel smile that threatens to short circuit your brain and stop your heart. There’s an overwhelming swirl of emotions in his purple-blue eyes: lust, mischief, adoration, respect, longing, and…so much love.

It’s all enough to make you want to confess the feelings you yourself had forced deep down, trying desperately to forget them for the sake of your friendship and working relationship. Rafayel keeps staring into your eyes, straight into your soul, and you finally open your mouth to try and find the words, "I–”

But instead, he cuts you off, bending down so your lips brush against each other again, "I know.” With those words, he presses himself needily into your waiting mouth

Grateful that he doesn’t need you to say the words, you return his kiss with equal fervor, doing your best to convey all the things you had wanted to say.

The bruisingly passionate kiss pushes you towards the edge as Rafayel continues to bounce you ruthlessly onto his cock. You’re forced to pull away from his lips to let out a strangled cry of pleasure. Through the overwhelming ecstasy, Rafayel takes the opportunity to shove his hand in between your bodies, easily finding your clit. The stimulation forces you to scream out uncontrollably, your eyes and head rolling back into the wall.

"Jesus look at how soaked you are Y/N,” he mumbles in awe, eyes glued to where your bodies connected, "Look, baby.”

At his urging, you force yourself to lift your head off the wall and glance down at his fervent ministrations. The sight you’re met is enough to make you finish all over him right then and there.

The veins in Rafayel’s thick forearm bulge as he paws at your clit furiously, the slick glistening on his thick length and splatters as the force of his thrusts rattle you deliciously against the cold wall. As he pulls out of you entirely with each thrust, you can see the throb of each vein of his cock, aching to be thrust back inside you.

"Raf-Rafayel,” you gasp out, "I–”

"I-I know baby, I can feel it. Squeezing the life out of me,” he groans, shifting your entire weight onto his right arm while his left forearm slams into the wall above your head, anchoring him and allowing him to fuck into you with a new mind numbing intensity.

His chin digs into your shoulder as he hammers into you relentlessly, "Ffuuck baby, gonna make me cum all – shit – over you huh?”

The force of the orgasm that chases you is utterly blinding, and against your better judgment you plead with him, "P-please cum inside Raf, I want to feel you.”

You can feel his panting breath hitch by your ear, and he whispers, "Are you sure? Don’t tease me Y/N. Y-you can’t take it back. Please.”

"Won’t take it b-back,” you wail as his thrusts bruise your walls, the painful pleasure edging you closer and closer to your undoing. "Please Rafayel, need you inside me s’badly.”

At your begging, Rafayel goes absolutely insane. He slams you so vigorously against the wall that you can practically feel the entire house shake. Every throbbing thrust pushes against your more sensitive spots, bullying right into your cervix. His breath becomes increasingly erratic and he sinks his teeth into your neck to contain his throaty moans.

The sudden sensation of his teeth against your pulse, so dangerously aggressive yet gently teasing, sends you barreling into your orgasm. "Cumming, cumming, m’cumming Raf,” you wail repeatedly, unable to form any other words as tears stream down your face and onto his ruined dress shirt.

Your hand roughly tears at Rafayel’s hair as he continues to ravage both your clit and your aching hole, finally sending your body into the mind numbing explosion of your climax. Your cunt grips onto him for dear life, throbbing uncontrollably to the sloppy rhythm of his thrusts. You ride the endless waves of your orgasm, vision blurring as tears continue to spill from your eyes.

"Raf, s’too much,” you whimper, fingers releasing his hair and reaching down to scratch at his back, trying to relieve any of the overwhelming pleasure that threatened to make you lose consciousness. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about how you were destroying Rafayel’s expensive shirt under your nails. Your legs tighten around his waist as he continues to pound you into the wall. You’re almost sure your body will be battered and bruise tomorrow, not that you’d complain.

"M’sorry,” he pants, but only thrusts harder and faster, "Jus’ hold onto me love. M’so – ffuuck – so fucking close.” You nod obediently, still riding the last receeding waves of your own orgasm, pussy quivering around every ridge and vein on his shaft.

"Jesus if you could feel how tight you’re squeezing me right now,” Rafayel grits through clenched teeth, "You want me to cum inside you that bad? That you’re gonna force it out of me?”

Your lids feel so heavy as the pleasure of your orgasm ebbs into exhausted satisfaction, and you murmur, "M’not doing anything Raf, you jus’ feel so good. So deep.”

At your praises, Rafayel lets out a strangled groan and comes undone inside of you. You cry out as the warmth of his spend fills you, soothing the ache from the ravaging your poor cunt just took. He shoots rope after rope of it into you, a never ending stream of him emptying inside of you.

Rafayel rests his forehead against yours, his forearm still using the wall above your head to support him. You both pant into each other as the quivering of your cunt squeezes every last drop of him inside you. He shivers at the feeling of your womanhood throbbing around his softening member, completely spent.

Rafayel does his best to keep himself, and you, upright. His arms shake slightly, the aftershocks of his own orgasm devastating every muscle in his body. You can feel his biceps trembling, you fight to keep your eyes open, "S’okay Raf I can stand.”

"Okay love,” he murmurs into your hair, taking in one last whiff of your scent, before pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead. You whimper as he slips out of you, your sore hole still wanting nothing more to be filled by Rafayel. You do your best to ignore the thick streaks of your collective spend dripping down your legs. As you unhook your thighs and let your feet touch the floor, your body gives out.

Rafayel catches you before your knees can crash into the tiled bathroom floor. You don’t have to look at his face to know he’s smirking at you.

"Need me to carry you baby?”

As you hold yourself up clutching his arm, you narrow your eyes at him, "No. Shut up.”

Rafayel chuckles, the smile in his eyes glowing brightly at you, "Come on Y/N, let me take care of you.”

Your snappy refusal is cut off by your squeal as Rafayel scoops you into his arms, like a princess. You wince at the feeling of the smearing of dampness between your thighs as Rafayel hooks his arms under your thighs. You hadn't even noticed that he’d put his belt back on.

"Always with the theatrics Rafayel,” you grin, unable to stop yourself from burying your face into his chest. He smiles in response as he carries you through his home. You breathe in Rafayel’s scent, an intoxicating blend of sea salt, cardamom, and arousal.

"You love me.”

You sigh to yourself, love him you absolutely did. But that was a conversation you two would need to have another day.

Looking up, you find yourself in Rafayel’s room, his white curtains billowing as the night time breeze cascades through them. As Rafayel sets you down on his plush king sized bed, your phone rings from the inside of his pocket. You’d almost forgotten you’d given him your phone when Thomas had called earlier.

The phone keeps ringing as Rafayel sits besides where you lay, attention focused solely on you. You pat his thigh, "Raf? Can you pick up my phone?”

Rafayel grimaces as he grabs your cell phone from his slack pockets. "It’s just Thomas,” he grumbles like a child, "I told him not to call again.”

He takes one look at your unamused expression and sighs in defeat, "Fine fine.”

Rafayel picks up the phone, snapping, "What Thomas?”

"Speaker phone,” you mouth at him, only able to hear Thomas’s erratic mumbles through the phone. He rolls his eyes, but puts the call on speaker, holding it up between you two.

"You guys better be half dead in a ditch or actually dead,” he threatens sulkily, "How could you guys not show up?”

"Didn’t I say not to call again?” Rafayel fires back, but his tone is teasing. You know Rafayel cares about Thomas a lot, even if he makes the agent’s life hell.

"Thomas, I'm so sorry! I’ll make it up to you I swear,” you apologize, feeling horribly guilty. You could only imagine how many angry sponsors and reporters he had to deal with.

As Rafayel holds the phone with one hand for you to speak into, he notices your black dress had ridden up to reveal glistening streaks pooling down your legs. He uses the index finger of his free hand to scoop up the spend that continues to drip down your thighs. Your breath hitches as he smirks at you, his hand creeping up further, into your inner thigh.

"You owe me so many dinners,” Thomas grumbles, but you have a difficult time paying attention to the rest of his words as Rafayel’s hands venture further up, dangerously. You give him a warning look, but his fingers only trail up further to tease you, grazing against your bare slit.

"Are you guys even listening to me?” Thomas demands through the phone, his tone is as pouty as Rafayel normally is.

"Y-yes, I'm sorry,” you try to keep your voice as steady as possible, "I'll uh, I'll get you take out tomorrow!” You swat at Rafayel’s lingering hands but he doesn’t budge. His ears are pink and you notice his breaths are coming out in short pants as he quietly climbs onto the bed at your feet. You do your best to keep your own moans from bursting uncontrollably out of your lips as his fingers relentlessly tease you.

"Yes, and I want boba too. With extra – wait. What are you guys doing?” Rafayel and your eyes snap to each other and then to the phone. You’re about to speak when Thomas’s shrill voice cuts in again.

"You guys better not be doing what I think you’re doing! I swear to g–”

“‘Kay gotta go bye bye Thomas love you!” Rafayel interrupts sheepishly, ending the call with his thumb. There’s a brief moment of disbelief and silence before you both burst out into laughter.

You clutch your stomach, trying to catch your breath as the uncontrollable giggles keep coming. But the thought of Thomas makes you feel guilty again, "Rafayel maybe we can still make it to the party if we hurry. We can’t just leave Thomas –”

Rafayel shushes you with his finger, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans over you, "I just got an idea for a painting and I have to start right now.”

You’re no stranger to Rafayel’s spontaneous bouts of inspiration. In the past, he’d literally drag you to the oceanside and not ten minutes into the excursion, he’d race home needing to get started on an idea he had right then and there. And sometimes he’d forget you at the beach.

"Right now? But we’re not in the studio,” you squirm as Rafayel leans closer to your face, shifting his body so that he’s kneeling at your feet, in between your legs.

"Oh. I meant a different kind of painting. Maybe on your stomach,” your brows furrow in confusion at his words as he smirks mischievously at you. You squeak as he climbs to hover over you, his body pressed against your still sensitive areas. Your body heats up again as the feel of his hardening cock against you.

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, the salty taste of him invading your senses once more, "Or maybe…on your beautiful face.”

The implications of his words finally hits you all at once, and your face burns like a wildfire. You hit his shoulder weakly and unconvincingly, already succumbing to the arousal pooling back in your thighs as you watch the desperate need return to his eyes.

"R-Rafayel!”

"Then again you’re already a piece of art,” he murmurs, his voice groggy with desire. He presses a kiss to your parted lips, then to your exposed collarbone, and then to your covered breasts, "But you know me. I like to take my time with my art.” Oh you were utterly fucked.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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whirlybirbs · 22 days

Note

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning.

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!"

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea.

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase.

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked.

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you.

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them.

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck.

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived.

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here.

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table.

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute.

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even.

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close.

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers.

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this.

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time.

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next.

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life.

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks.

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name.

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches.

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up.

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often.

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life.

Hawks brings his visor back down.

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement.

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing.

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings.

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again.

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors.

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy.

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back.

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'.

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five.

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday.

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining.

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster.

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster.

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out.

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back.

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver.

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter.

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants.

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over.

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun.

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm.

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation.

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke.

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated.

#i had a few banger one liners in this one folks #meet & greet #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #hawks imagine #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami x you #keigo takami imagine #mha hawks #bnha #mha imagine #bnha imagine

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syoddeye · 2 months

Text

down the hatch / twinkie talk

141 x f!reader | ~1.7k read parts one and two tags: flashback in italics, possibly bad french (sorry french-speaking people, i tried). thoughts about fucking. a/n: i am having a ball writing this goofy story. banner by @/cafekitsune.

you miss some things from the before times. a couple are obvious—fresh food and the internet—but then there are indulgences that haunt your dreams: monster munch, memes, those talking toilets with heated seats, and fresh nails.

then there’s the annoying things you oughta not miss, but you do. mouth breathers. drunk teenagers. the librarian with a one-sided beef over your overdue charges.

it hits like an errant frisbee to the face. what the annoying things have in common. people. yeesh. you miss people.

but you aren’t sure if the fellas staring you down are the kind of people you miss. they confer, huddling in the kitchen. eight eyeballs glued to little ol’ you, on the floor and tied to a side table. back aching from slumping against the couch. no one’s offered water or one of your twinkies. pilferers. thieves. vagrants.

all this looking gives you ideas.

first. they’re clearly all fucking. if the shower gargling wasn’t evidence enough, they’re touchy. two of mohawk’s fingers hook through the loop of scragglebeard’s belt. dry bones’s big arm holds ballcap close. and when dry bones presented you to the other three, he got two ass slaps out of it. (you can’t blame them. apocalypse be damned, the guy is keeping himself fed.)

second. scraggle is in charge. the pecking order is like one of those shape puzzles kids play with. you’d be an idiot baby to not figure it out.

third. they’re not afraid of you—why would they be—but they’re wary. it makes you wonder how many folks are upright above ground, and by extension, how many women. you’re not stupid. even if they’re together and experts in gland-to-gland combat, you’re alone in a bunker nobody else knows about. yet, it’s been hours, and they haven’t tried anything.

under different circumstances, you’d be interested. it’s not every day the universe serves up four hunky albeit stinky men. there’s no harm in indulging in fantasy, though, especially if they’re likely to kill you. get your jollies where you can and whatnot. so, you dip your head back and close your eyes, picturing a writhing tangle of limbs and a hole buffet.

some time later, the men break.

you crack an eye, and watch the four fan out, approaching as if you’re the elephant’s foot. scraggle drags the coffee table closer and sits. his ass barely misses the puzzle.

a hiss pushes violently from between your teeth. “watch it.”

his lip quirks beneath his mussed beard. for a moment, he simply assesses. his eyes linger briefly on the jorts, before dragging a breath in through his nose.

“bonjour mademoiselle. parlez-vous…english?”

it's the most god awful french. you think of muzzy. why he’s speaking to you in broken—

oh yeah.

“told ya i was gonna find ya.”

you chomped dry bones’s fingers with as much force as adrenaline could spare, momentarily freeing your mouth from the tyranny of his mean hand. “tu es un artichaut! artichaut!”

“what the fuck is—” he swore, dodging more teeth as he wrestled you the ground.

loud, clamoring footsteps announced the arrival of his bleary-eyed comrades. you got a look at their bewildered faces with your cheek pressed to the ground, screaming. “les nains! de jardin!”

scraggle’s mouth hung open, eyes darting from yours to the man whose knee pressed into your shoulders. he nodded, and something struck your head. light switch, lights out.

they think you actually speak french. titters of laughter burst through your chapped lips. if panic-quoting film is enough to fool them, planning an escape will be no problem. still. maintaining the ruse long-term is not ideal. you chew your cheek, then shrug.

“yeah. i speak english."

scraggle’s eyes pinch. “then why french?”

“because i’ve watched ratatouille and amelie about a dozen times each since i got here.” you explain. “because it’s the language of love and i’m desperately in love with dry bones.”

mohawk snorts. scraggle shoots him a look over his shoulder.

“if i free you, are you going to be good?”

you bat your lashes. “what else could i be—wait, wait!” the jerk rises to his feet, lips pursed. “i’m joking, christ, did humor die with everybody else up there?”

scraggle sighs. awfully impatient for a man with nowhere else to be. “got a name?”

it takes a moment to find it. something itchy and uncomfortable sticks to the base of your throat. nobody’s said your name in months. you haven’t thought about it. it comes out more of a question than an answer.

annoyingly, scraggle repeats it, stupid easy. “are you alone? how long have you been down here?”

no point in lying. “yeah, i’m alone. it’s been three months, i think. since it happened. you gonna free me now?”

scraggle’s chin dips to his chest, studying you for a second time. the patheticness you’re trying to exude must work, because he jerks his head. “gaz, untie her.”

ballcap—gaz, what a name—doesn’t hesitate, but his frown deepens with each step. he drops to a knee, guiding you to sit straighter to reach the cord. he doesn’t smell as bad as dry bones. probably because he got a quarter of a shower.

“i know what you did. puzzle interloper.” you whisper into his ear.

to his credit, his nose only wrinkles.

scraggle scratches at his scalp under his hat as your bindings loosen. “did you build this place?”

“hilarious. no. technically it belonged to my neighbor. it’s mine now since he melted.”

“melted?” gaz pauses, pretty brown eyes blinking incredulously.

“yeah. you guys nearly stepped in him. he’s the hardened chunky stew outside the hatch.”

mohawk whistles, shaking his scruffy head. “thought that was sick.”

“and who was he?” scraggle asks, making room for gaz as the younger man stands.

“no idea. he told me once, the, uh, time we spoke.” you rub your wrists, thinking back to move-in day maybe six months ago. the absurdly large man openly stared and talked at you as you carried in boxes. didn’t offer to help. “i just called him ‘austria’. speaking of. do you have names? because i don’t think you’ll like the ones i made up.”

“oh, let’s hear them.”

“that’s not—”

“mohawk. scragglebeard. dry bones. you were ‘ballcap’ sixty seconds ago.”

“very creative.” mohawk sneers, though he looks more offended than anything.

“what the fuck is ‘dry bones’.”

“video game character. super mario, mario kart. skeletal-turtle creature.”

“quiet.” scraggle orders, glaring at you, obviously displeased with how you’ve sent his little interrogation careening off the rails.

you drag an invisible zipper over your lips.

another long sigh. he points at each of the men, then himself. “gaz. ghost. soap. john.”

you unzip. “what, too cool for an absurd nickname? or have you not earned one better than ‘scragglebeard’?”

for a second, you think you’ve signed your execution. sped the collapse. then your stomach grumbles loud enough to make four men wince, and that’s how you end up at the kitchen counter with a twinkie. scrag–john, gives you the short and sweet of the situation topside.

bombs. lots of them. thousands dead, possibly millions. difficult to know for sure with the dissolution or retreat of the powers at be and the general, violent distrust between survivors. long-distance communication is spotty. they’re military and emphasize that they’re special ops. you should’ve seen that coming. whatever 'special ops' means. but what raises your interest and your hackles is that they plan to use the bunker as a rendezvous point, if they can reach their friends in kastovia.

“ex-fucking-cuse me?”

“settle down.” john urges with arms crossed over his broad chest.

you jut a finger in his face, nearly touching his unkempt beard. “you broke into my home, my safe spot, and now you’re planting a flag. don’t tell me to settle down.”

“hen, i dinnae—”

“i don’t want to hear it.” you snap at soap, then reel back on john. “pull up stakes and move on.”

“mm, not gonna do that.” john lifts his chin to stare down the bridge of his nose. “first place we’ve come across with stable power. water. food.”

“don’t forget the sterling company.” ghost adds.

you want to hurl a pastry. a knife. a stick of dynamite. you couldn’t miss people, couldn’t want some around. not these dickhead invaders. john’s eyes say it all. underscore their intentions. they’re sticking around and digging in. potentially inviting more fucking soldier types underground.

all your plans to sneak out and lure them to their deaths or dismemberment eddy out of your head. you’ll need time to recalibrate and come up with a fresh strategy. sizing them up again, you chew your lip.

gaz’s hand rests on a sidearm clipped to his belt. ghost and soap lean against one another, the former’s hand curled in the latter’s shirt like a leash. and john…

he smirks underneath his oily whiskers.

big, mean bastards. strongarming you into letting them stay.

the fantasies of a fuck bunker dissolve. you’re definitely gonna kill them.

“fine.” you relent, ignoring the twinge of satisfaction from seeing four sets of shoulders relax. “but i have ground rules. conditions.”

john plucks a third twinkie from the box and offers it in an open palm.

“let’s hear them.”

“it’s like bein’ back in th’ barracks.” soap grouses, twisting beneath the thin sheet. “it’s nae fair she gets the bigger bed.”

“it’s what was negotiated, and it’s only right to give a woman a private room.”

gaz scoffs, shucking off his shirt. “the same woman who spied on soap and me in the shower.”

“soap liked it.”

“i didnae like it, lt.”

“s’not what our old collection of tapes say.”

“the three of you, shut it, and keep your voices down.” john groans, sinking onto the edge of the firm bunk, scratching through the fur of his bare chest. “it’s either play nice now and hope she warms up, cooperates, or piss her off and live with what amounts to a rabid dog until—”

“until she needs puttin’ down.” ghost finishes, leaning against the bedroom door. still kitted out, adamant someone keeps an eye on their reluctant host.

“your words, not mine.”

“dog. more like a bloody badger. holed up underground, cushy little life. bad fuckin’ attitude.” gaz grumbles, punching the thin pillow into shape.

“four unshaved, dirty men with firearms broke into her home. did you expect her to throw a parade once we met?”

soap, propped on his side, traces a circle into the empty space beside him. “would have been nice.”

next door, ear pressed to the ventilation shaft, your grin curls. grinch-like. play nice. you can do that.

tramps. drifters. vagabonds. you will make them regret coming down the hatch.

#poly141 #141 x reader #141 x f!reader #you’re what the french call les incompétents.

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wonysugar · 10 months

Text

fuck you stupid | ning yizhuo

synopsis : you thought you’d seen it all with her, but no, she somehow managed to surprise you even further.

pairing : bimbo!ningning x fem!reader

genre : bffs to... fwb?? idk they just fuck,, so obviously smut too! xx

tags : yall got lost help, fingering, degradation, belittling, dumbification, car sex, she's so stupid but she fucks you good so it's okay, very slight cunnilingus, she slaps you like once so impact play!

warnings : none!

word count : 1.6k

you, y/n l/n, weren’t exactly smart, but you also weren’t exactly stupid. like yeah, you weren’t a genius per se, but it’s not like you were brain dead either. average was the term you always used to describe your intelligence.

you unfortunately couldn’t say the same about ning yizhuo, your best friend.

you loved her, like that’s your bitch, of course you love her! however, you’d be lying if you said that she was intellectually capable, because she just wasn’t. god, she was just so, so painfully stupid?? clumsy??? careless???? all of the above applied when it came to this woman. not even to be mean or anything of the sorts, just, yknow… natural selection at its finest.

she was aware of that, though, and even thrived in being the self proclaimed bimbo everyone knew and loved. (to which you wholeheartedly agree with, by the way) and honestly? you just couldn’t stop teasing her about it whenever you two hung out. things similar to “stupid hoe” and “dumbass” always escaping your mouth as you two laughed, probably moments after she bumped onto something on the sidewalk whilst spilling all the tea to you.

in summary, she’s done stupid shit before, but nothing, nothing could ever top what she had done that day.

the day she got the both of you lost in some random parking lot at like, 2 am.

“ning, we’re fucking lost.” you told her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you watched her giggle nervously.

she grabbed her cellphone and hovered her finger over the power button, “oh come on y/n don’t be like that, i can just go on google maps and we’ll be out of here in no ti-“

a black screen.

she cleared her throat hesitantly, sighed, then pressed the button again.

nothing.

she kept doing that, giving longer presses to the side of her phone in hopes of a miracle . your patience was running thin and you were quite frankly not far from panicking.

after the 27th-ish try, you finally snapped at her.

“fucking hell ning do you not charge your damn phone??”

“sorry that i forgot to?”

oh she had to be joking.

“girl oh my god what the fuck?? we’ll stay stuck here for only god knows how long and it’s all gonna be because ‘ning yizhuo forgot to charge her phone beforehand’ for fuck’s sake.” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. trying to calm down, you ignored ning’s gaze.

her stupid annoying yapping wasn’t helping at all. like, at all.

“oh so we’re once again blaming me, got it. y/n you didn’t even bring your own phone, how do you have the audacity to put the blame on me.” she said back, her eyebrow raised up as she threw her phone down on her skirt, sighing exasperatedly.

“because someone told me it was her turn to get the aux.”

“where in that sentence did i ever tell you not to bring your phone??”

“god, ning just- just stay quiet. okay? just- please shut up, i’m trying to think. we can’t rely on you for anything.” you told her, exasperated.

in response, she scoffed, “no?? no i won’t, actually. you’re always putting the blame on me and it’s seriously starting to piss me the fuck off. yeah i’m a bimbo, whatever, but does that mean that you have to talk to me like i only have two barely functioning brain cells??”

“oh please, saying you have two functioning brain cells would be wayy too generous. you’re always doing the stupidest shit out of the two of us. i mean fuck, you literally drove us here, in the middle of nowhere. you’re not a bimbo, you’re just fucking dumb, ning.”

when you looked back at her, she seemed hurt. like,

a wave of guilt quickly washed over you upon seeing her pained, pained expression. she looked into your eyes, frustration and sadness clearly showing into her own. yeah, she looked pissed. you wanted to apologize almost immediately, and you were going to,

if she didn’t suddenly press her lips onto yours before you could even get a word out.

how do best friends make up after a fight?

usually, they talk it out, they go out, hug it out then get milkshakes or whatever, hell, sometimes they just go a day or two without talking then eventually forget about it.

this? this was none of that.

since she planted a kiss on your lips, you, instead of doing anything stated above, were fucking.

like, yeahh you were still lost, but at least you were getting your pussy ravaged. the situation could be handled later; when you weren’t drenched.

throwing your head back as you moaned out ning’s name, you were straddling her in the backseat of her car, feeling her two fingers deep inside you and stretching you out. she looked up at you with lustfully hooded eyes as she kissed and left very visible marks all over your neck, all the way down to your collarbone, her free hand fondling your tits, lazily playing with the nipple.

“f-fuck ning keep going i’m sososo close- fuckfuckfuck..” feeling yourself getting pushed closer to the edge by the friction you felt, you bucked your hips faster onto her digits. the knot tying in your stomach felt like it would’ve snapped any second now, that is,

until she stopped moving her fingers altogether.

frustrated, you whined loudly, “ninggg please let me cum pleaseplease-”

“oh yeah? so now you wanna rely on me for something, and it’s to make you cum?” she laughed. “fucking slut. i’ll make you cum whenever i want to, got it, bitch?” she added, pressing her thumb on your swollen throbbing clit, smirking condescendingly and watching how pretty you looked when pleasure contorted your face.

you unintentionally clenched at her words, nodding shamefully. it was embarrassing enough having your best friend knuckles deep inside of you, having her call you names and whatnot, but the real embarrassing part?

enjoying it thoroughly.

she knew this, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger at that moment and oh was it such a power trip for her. seeing you be so needy for her touch, you almost started riding her fingers yourself, too. she was always the one being treated like a dumb bitch, it was nice being on the other side of things, for a change.

she kept twisting and pulling on your nipple with her free hand as she slowly started to slide her fingers up and down your walls again, giggling and paying close attention to how your body shook and twitched at each and every one of her slow movements. what a sight to see.

“you like being fucked stupid hm?”

and that’s what she did,

seconds,

minutes,

what felt likes hours,

you were sloppily bouncing and grinding on her fingers, speed ranging from a painful slowness to an overwhelming rapidity.

you gripped her arms tightly, as if you would fall into some sort of void if you didn’t hold onto her for dear life. resting your head on her shoulder, you whined, losing yourself onto her. her fingers were still pumping in and out of you at that moment, faster than they were before, by the way, so it took you all of your body strength to not just cum right then and there, but you managed to hold back. for her, you held back and took all of it. every minute passing, every single motion feeling like it was threatening to make you go insane.

“ning pleaseplease let me cum i wanna cum so badly fuck- pleasepleasepleasepleaseee-” you begged, looking down at her with pleading teary eyes.

“fuck, look at you. calling me a dumb bitch all the time, yet here you are, acting oh so stupid for my fingers. such a brainless needy little whore for me, hm? does my idiotic, pretty girl wanna cum?”

you nodded eagerly as you whined, tears actively running down both of your cheeks, so desperate for release that you quite honestly didn’t care for how ridiculous you looked to her at that moment. you just wanted to cum, so, so, so badly, and you were ready to give up your dignity for it.

the sound of her hand slapping your cheek resonated in the car.

“say it. you know damn well i don’t accept pathetic sounds for an answer.”

“fuck— your idiotic pretty girl wants to cum pleaseee let her–”

she hummed, smirking at your response. incredibly amused by your behavior, she took her fingers out of you, picked you up by placing her hands on your thighs, then gently put you on the empty seat that was next to the one she occupied. upon seeing you sat comfortably, she proceeded to kneel down on the empty space between the front seats and the backseats. y’know,

the ones a grown woman couldn’t possibly fit in?

it’s okay though, like, yeah she would most definitely complain about back pain later, but right now?

she needed to feel you cum all over her tongue.

and that’s exactly what she worked towards, her tongue driven by the scent of your arousal to roam all over your folds and clit, kissing and sucking on every inch of your core as she attentively listened to all the sweet noises that came out of you. it really did not take long before your moans reached octaves you didn’t even know you could achieve before, an overwhelming wave of relief hitting you like a truck. you were 100% sure you would pass out afterwards.

at the end of the day, yeah, you both were still stranded in the middle of some unknown parking lot, but at least, the stress of it all evaporated in the air.

while you were trying to catch your breath, you made a mental note;

never underestimate ning’s intelligence when she was in a bad mood! or, do. depending on if you wanna get fucked stupid that day or not.

#smut #kpop gg #female reader #aespa smut #ningning #ningning aespa #ning yizhuo #ningning x female reader #ningning x reader #aespa #aespa ningning #ningning aespa smut #ning yizhuo x female reader

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thealogie · 7 months

Note

picture this. you're michael sheen, beloved queer-friendly welsh actor and recent twilight saga vampire. you want your favorite book to become a tv show, and you want to be the lead. so what do you do? you befriend the author. he wines and dines you, you become a confidant in the scriptwriting phase. and in the process of the GO script you decide you don't want to be crowley, actually, you want to be aziraphale. you put in the work for months to influence the author to the same conclusion. so when neil gaiman comes to you one day saying, "i know you joined on to be crowley... but how would you feel about playing aziraphale?" you say, what a novel idea! i was feeling the same way, i just didn't want to say anything! let's do it.

you're michael sheen, the lead in the adaptation of your favorite book. you meet david tennant as your leading man, a rising star (and vocal fan of yours) you've had a few vague interactions with in the past. on set you immediately find the closest friend you have ever and will ever find in your life, and you know this. the romance you have in your (yes, your) show is ambiguous, but you're michael sheen. you think that romance needs to be explicit. so what do you do? you become a nightmare on set. you get really hands-on; you make costume choices, you make story decisions, you tell your author friend at the very end of filming: aziraphale is in love with crowley and realizes it in 1941. now go do it again.

so the author goes and does it again. you get a season 2. you get 1941 part 2. you're michael sheen, and you are the lead of the adaptation of your favorite book, and the romance you littered into the character you built from the ground up has become unambiguous. everything goes according to plan. but, you see, you have a problem: the author you have baby trapped is acting a FIEND on twitter and tumblr. he's saying everything he can to imply aziraphale and crowley aren't sexually attracted to each other. he's getting a bit too bold with his character assumptions, is all i'm saying. so here's what you're going to do: you play it up with your pal david tennant. you made a show with him during lockdown. you're going to depict your lives as even more intertwined and homoerotically codependent as previously possible. you grow even closer. your wives become best friends, too, because how could they not? this has been the plan since the beginning, too. your lockdown show ends. it wasn't enough.

so you, michael sheen, of course you put in the work. if david tennant's there, you're damn sure you're there physically, spiritually, biblically, in whatever capacity you can be. it's not hard. david tennant is a big fan of yours, after all, so he MAKES SURE you're always in the conversation. you have him wrapped around your little finger, this lovely little boy, and so you know what you do next? you become neighbors. you make your directorial debut casting your best friend's wife watching her husband and male neighbor initiate sex with each other. you play into the swinging rumors (that you, michael sheen, had started). you create a narrative that you and david tennant are two homoerotic besties, and is there more going on in the background there? any deeper conspiracy? who really knows, but what you do know is that the world is talking about it.

and you, michael sheen, your entire acting career has led to this moment, your gay quips, your oscar wilde sex scene (and the interviews following), all of your queer roles, EVERYTHING has brought us to this conclusion. you have created the lab perfect conditions where season 3 must have an explicit gay sex scene. i'm sorry neil, my hands are tied! the people are clamoring for me and david tennant to have sex-- i mean aziraphale and crowley to have sex, the public decided this all on their own! i really don't think you have much choice. but of course, i would never deign to tell an author how to practice his veritable craft. i concede to whatever version of series 3 you create, and i will happy to bring this beloved character to his deserved ending.

and why do you say this? because you're michael sheen. you're just an actor who incidentally stumbled his way into leading the queer romance adaptation of your favorite book that wasn't a romance, and you just read the script the way that it was given to you. and if series 3 means an explicit sex scene between you and your best friend david tennant, then what a lovely coincidence that you had absolutely no part in making happen. because what power do you really have?

This is my favorite book I’ve read so far this year. A rare occasion where the author pulls off use of the second person pov. I really felt like I was a beloved welsh actor crossed with Machiavelli when I read this

#michael sheen

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zegrasdrysdale · 9 months

Text

[ a christmas surprise ] j. hughes & n. hischier

day twelve of malia’s christmas fic marathon

paring : Jack Hughes x fem!reader x Nico Hischier

summary : Jack sees the way (Y/N) is looking at Nico at the Devils Christmas party and makes an interesting proposal that neither of them can resist

warning(s) : smut ! approved cheating ? (idk if that's a thing but it's a thing for this fic), threesome, slight sub!reader, pet names during sex, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, protected and unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms

author’s note : had to go all out for the last fic of the christmas marathon. my gift to y’all. merry (belated) christmas if you celebrate. i give to you, the finale of the christmas fic marathon ! this took me a lot longer to write than i thought but here y'all go

༺═──────────────═༻

She had no idea what to expect when she walked into the rental hall for the Devils Christmas party with her boyfriend of two years. She knows that Jack, Luke, Nico, Dawson, and Jesper decorated the whole thing, but she's surprised at how well it's actually decorated.

Everyone is either wearing red or back, which makes sense considering the Devils' colors are red and black. She thought there would be more green worn since it is the day after Christmas. A lot of the guys are wearing one of their arrival suits with crazy ties.

Jack isn't though. He has on one of his arrival suits and a black tie. He didn't go all out in his outfit but he did with the decor.

"Wow, Jack," she gasps when she walks into the hall. "Looks good. I had doubts."

He looks offended as (Y/N) greets him with a very quick kiss. "Ouch, baby," he says as he feigns chest pain. "That hurt."

"I mean, the oldest one out of the five of you that decorated is only 25," she defends. "Sorry if I had a few doubts about a bunch of mid to young twenty-year-olds decorating for a Christmas party. Luke also just left college in May so excuse me for being worried about how it would look with you guys decorating."

Jack drapes an arm around her shoulders and smiles. "We had our captain with us," he comments. "We were in good hands, (Y/N). He kept ordering us around and telling us where things should go. Merc even got yelled at in Swiss-German because Nico got so frustrated with us at one point."

She smiles as she walks further into the large room. "I wish I could've seen that," she laughs. "That sounds like a very Nico thing to do."

"What sounds like a very Nico thing to do?" a accented voice says from behind (Y/N). She freezes mid-step and turns with Jack to look at Nico Hischier.

"You yelling at Dawson in Swiss-German while we were decorating," Jack answers for her. No words form on her lips as she looks Nico up and down when a smile forms on his lips. She swears her cheeks get hot when he looks over at her.

She has no idea why she gets tongue-tied around the Swiss captain. He's been around since she and Jack started dating. She should be used to seeing him and talking to him by now.

Maybe it's that damn accent or the fact that there are no words in the English language that could describe how hot he looks in his suit and fresh haircut. The dimple that forms when he smiles makes her lose her mind every single time.

If she weren't dating Jack, she'd absolutely go for his captain. She's always had a thing for European guys.

"Well, it was frustrating that he wasn't listening," Nico says, pulling her out of her head. "You know when I get frustrated, I switch languages. It's something that's always happened. Sometimes it's out of my control."

"I'm well aware," Jack laughs, completely unaware that his girlfriend is checking out his captain, or that his captain is checking out his girlfriend.

It's something that started very recently, and neither of them have acted on their thoughts. (Y/N) is very much in love with Jack, but she is allowed to look at other men. As long as she doesn't act on the thoughts she has about other men.

An arm wraps around her waist and she looks up at Jack. "Why don't you go get us drinks and maybe something to eat?" he suggests. "I need to talk to Nico about some strategies for our next game against Columbus."

She nods and spares one last glance at Nico before walking off. She finds the area with the drinks and food. She makes a plate for them to share and orders them both a drink from the bar.

When she turns around with their plate of food and their drinks, she sees that Jack and Nico are still very deep in conversation. Nico looks surprised and confused at whatever Jack is saying to him. Nico does glance over at her then quickly looks away from her and back at Jack.

He nods at something Jack said before Jack turns and walks over to her. He takes one of the drinks and (Y/N) asks, "What was that about? It looked like a much different conversation than strategies about the game with the way Nico looked."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," Jack tells her with a soft kiss to her temple. "Just know that it was a very good and informative conversation between a captain and his alternate. That's all you need to know right now. Let's go eat, yeah?"

She nods and they find a table with Dougie, Erik, Vitek, and their significant others so they can eat. She enjoys the meatball hoagie she made for herself and Jack enjoys the piece of steak she grabbed for him.

The two of them make small conversations with each other and with the people at their table. Dougie compliments Jack on how good the decorations look and he talks all about how fun it was to decorate with Luke, Nico, Dawson, and Jesper.

(Y/N) doesn't realize it at first but her eyes scan the room looking for Nico the first time Jack mentions the captain. She's surprised when she doesn't find him anywhere. She hasn't seen him since he walked away from Jack nearly ten minutes ago now.

"Hey, Jack," she says to grab his attention. He looks over at her. "Have you seen Nico? He's nowhere to be found."

Jack blinks at his girlfriend. "Why are you looking for Nico?" he asks.

"It's just weird that I haven't seen him," she explains. "He's usually walking around and talking to everyone but I haven't seen him since he walked away from the conversation with you."

He swallows a bite of his food and says, "He said something about going to the bathroom. He's probably still there."

She's confused by how Jack is being so casual about his MIA captain. A teammate would go find him and make sure he's okay.

(Y/N) stands up when Jack goes back to talking with Dougie, Erik, and Vitek. She makes her way towards the bathrooms. Dawson walks out of the men's room and she grabs him. "Is Nico in there?" she asks. "Jack said he might be in there."

"Yeah, he's in there," he tells her. "He's freaking out about something but won't tell me what. Where's Jack? I wanna talk to him."

"At the table with Dougie, Erik, and Vitek," she replies. "They're talking about the decorations actually so if you want to go and brag, there you go."

Dawson smiles and heads into the main room.

(Y/N) hesitates for a moment before she slowly pushes open the door to the men's room. She peeks her head in and sees Nico leaning with his hands against the sink counter. His head is down, but he seems to be the only one in the bathroom so she walks in.

The door closing behind her gets Nico's attention. He blinks a couple of times before before he realizes that she's standing in the bathroom with him. "What are you doing in here?" he asks. "Where's Jack?"

"That seems to be a really popular question," she says with a smile on her face. The smile falters when she realizes he's being serious. "He's talking to Dougie, Erik, Vitek, and now probably Dawson. He said you might be in here so I came to check on you to make sure you're okay."

Nico still seems confused as to why she is standing in front of him instead of Jack. "Did he tell you?" he questions.

Now it's her turn to be confused. "Tell me what?" she asks. "He didn't tell me anything. He's actually being really weird and refused to come see if you were okay when I realized you haven't been seen in like ten minutes. Then Dawson said you were panicking about something so that really had me worried. I needed to come check on you."

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest. He's taken his suit jacket off and she can't help but look at how the button-up hugs his arms in all the right places. She presses her lips into a line so she doesn't say anything.

The captain squints his eyes at her and says, "I think you should talk to him about the conversation we had. I shouldn't be the one to tell you."

"Now you're being weird," she comments. "Why is everyone being so weird recently? I am really not a fan of-"

Nico crosses the floor in four large strides and pulls her by the back of her neck into a deep kiss, cutting her off from whatever she was about to say.

She gives in because she's always wondered what it would be like to kiss Nico. He's an attractive guy and she's always thought he was attractive.

The dark hair that he's let grow long enough to cover his forehead and form a curtain over his eyes when he looks down. Her fingers play with the ends of his locks on the back of his neck. The dimple in his cheek every time he smiles makes her weak in the knees sometimes. The deep, accented voice makes her wish that she got to hear how it sounds in bed.

She kisses him back after a lapse in her judgement.

The shock of the initial kiss wears off and Nico walks until (Y/N)'s lower back is pressed against the same sink he was leaning on five minutes ago. The kisses exchanged between them are feverish and desperate.

His free hand rests on her waist and she moves to grip the collar of his shirt so he doesn’t move away from her. Nico shoves a thigh between her legs and she has to refrain from grinding against it.

All she wants is to get some pressure on her core, but she doesn’t want this to be over so soon. If she starts to grind on Nico’s thigh, she’ll be coming in seconds.

She jumps up onto the counter behind her because her neck is starting to hurt from craning it to kiss him. His hand slides down to her thigh, his fingers dipping below the skirt of the dress that she’s wearing. She hooks her legs around his waist, and she feels something poke her upper thigh.

A door opens beside them and (Y/N) breaks the kiss to look at whoever walked in the door.

It’s Jack.

Her eyes widen and she pushes Nico away from her. “I-” she begins to say before Jack waves his hand to cut her off. She closes her mouth and tries not to cry.

The realization of what just happened sinks in the longer Jack stays quiet. She cheated on him with his captain. It doesn’t surprise her that he hasn’t said anything. He just looks between the two of them.

“Does she know?” Jack asks, looking behind her at Nico.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Nico says. She turns and looks at him. She’s surprised to find that he doesn’t look terrified at the fact that Jack caught them making out in the men’s bathroom.

Jack’s eyes flicker back to her. “Why do you look like you’re about to cry, baby?” he asks as he walks toward her.

A very surprised and confused (Y/N) says, “You just saw me kissing Nico. Heavily kissing Nico. You caught me cheating on you with your teammate, Jack.”

Through the tears in her eyes, she sees Jack smile. “The conversation with Nico was to tell him that it was okay if he did anything with you,” he tells her. “I’ve seen the way the two of you look at each other. It was obvious that you both were thinking the same thing.”

“But-”

“And I offered for him to join us in our bed tonight,” Jack admits, cutting her off. He brushes a piece of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. “If it’s alright with you, of course. If it’s too much then you don’t have to but I don’t mind sharing you tonight and see where it takes us.”

She blinks away the tears and looks back at a flustered and slightly disheveled Nico. He has a small smile on his face as she realizes that it was okay. Nico knew it was okay to kiss her, and she’s going to get both of them as soon as they leave.

The thought of the two of them working together to take her apart is nearly enough for her to say that they should leave the party right now. The only reason she doesn’t is because they are both leaders of the team and can’t just up and leave just as the party is beginning.

“Jack, if you felt pressured to do this because you think I want this, I-”

“I want you to be happy, (Y/N),” Jack assures her. He cups her jaw in his hands. “It’s Christmas so I thought it would be a nice surprise for you. Plus, Nico is one of my best friends so if I’m going to share you with anyone, I’d like it to be him. You look at him the same way you look at me. I’d figure that I’d give this a try.”

She looks back at Nico, who hasn’t moved but keeps the smile on his face. “I’m okay with this,” he tells her. “Jack basically made me admit to him that I want to fuck you and he said that it was okay. If you don’t want this or if you aren’t okay with this then tell us and we don’t have to do anything.”

The thing is that she has wanted to get fucked by Nico. She just didn’t know how badly she wanted it until the opportunity presented itself.

“When can we leave?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Jack and Nico make some excuse as to why they have to leave the party. (Y/N) is just along for the ride. Her body is already buzzing with anticipation of what will happen when they get to the apartment she and Jack share.

It takes nearly fifteen minutes for Jack to drive them to the apartment. She sits beside him in the passenger seat while Nico sits in the back behind Jack.

He reaches over the center console about five minutes into the drive and rests a hand on (Y/N)’s exposed thigh, right under the end of the skirt. She looks over at him and smiles. Jack’s eyes stay on the road as he squeezes her thigh. “Such a tease,” she giggles.

“Says you,” Jack replies with a smile on his lips.

She glances back at Nico, whose eyes are on Jack’s hand. His own hand was on her thigh not even a half an hour ago. The bathroom makeout comes back to her full force and her body shakes.

If that’s what Nico can do to her in two minutes, she isn’t ready for when he can take his time with her.

Jack pulls (Y/N) against him as soon as they walk into their shared apartment. She smiles and hears the front door close behind her. Jack looks behind her at Nico and says, "You don't have to just stand there, you know. You can come over. She's yours tonight too and you have my permission to do whatever you want to her as long as she's okay with it."

That's not something that (Y/N) ever expected to hear let alone hear out of Jack's mouth. That she's Nico's tonight too. She gets both of them. Two of the hottest men she's ever seen.

With permission from Jack, Nico takes the few steps over to the two of them. She turns her head and looks back at Nico, whose hands rest on her waist. She noses at his jaw so he looks at her instead of his hands. His curious eyes meet hers and she gives him a small smile.

She feels Jack's fingers on her jaw and he turns her head back to face him. "If you're uncomfortable with something-" he begins to say.

"Shut up and take me to bed," she interrupts. "Please."

He leans in and ravishes her mouth with his. His hands are on her jaw as he kisses her. They eventually slide into her hair and curl into the brown locks. She lets out a soft whine against her boyfriend's lips when she feels Nico's fingers trail down over her waist to her thighs. He presses soft kisses to her jaw and neck.

(Y/N) puts a hand on Jack's chest and pushes him toward their room. She grabs Nico's hand with her free hand and pulls him behind her. The three of them stumble through the dark apartment until they reach the bedroom.

She loses her heels and jacket in the journey to the room while Jack’s shirt gets unbuttoned and Nico loses his suit jacket. Jack picks her up and lays her on the bed as soon as they enter the room.

The kiss breaks in the process and she stares up at the two men in front of her. She bites her swollen lip as she waits for one of them to make a move.

Jack is the one to break the silence between them. “You or me?" he asks.

Nico looks down at her on the bed. "Me," he says, voice thicker than it was before. "My turn." Jack moves aside and lets Nico do whatever he wants.

She's able to smile for about two seconds before Nico crawls up her body and kisses her, continuing where they left off in the bathroom. The kiss is rough and Nico's hand is cupping her jaw. (Y/N) wraps her legs around the Swiss man's waist and digs her heels into the back of his thighs.

He kisses her more deeply than Jack does. Jack is rough, feverish. He constantly ravishes her mouth while Nico, while rough, kisses deeply. He kisses her with intent and lets her know what he wants to do to her.

It surprises her when she realizes that she loves the way they both kiss her.

Her hands run up and down his sides before she reaches between the two of them. With their lips locked, (Y/N) begins to unbutton his shirt. Nico uses his free hand to untuck the shirt from his pants. She shoves it off his body and runs her hands down his arms. His hand run down her thigh then runs up

He's more muscular than Jack is. His arms are bigger and his stomach is more toned. She loves it, but she also loves how Jack is muscular but doesn't completely cover her when he's on top of her.

She is going to get the best of both words tonight, and she cannot wait.

The mattress dips behind her and she feels fingers run through her hair. (Y/N) breaks the kiss and looks up to see Jack sitting on the bed with his fingers in her hair. He's ditched the unbuttoned shirt and suit jacket. Nico's lips attach to her jaw and he trails down her neck to her chest. The dress she's wearing exposes a lot of her cleavage and Nico kisses the exposed skin. Jack leans down and kisses her upside down.

Someone's fingers hook into the thin straps of her red dress and slide them down her arms. Nico pushes the satin fabric to the side and gets his mouth on her nipple. She groans his name against Jack's mouth and he pulls away. She tries to chase his lips but Jack pins her shoulders to the bed.

"Fuck," she sighs when Nico moves to give her other breast some attention. Jack reaches down and gets his hand on the breast that Nico abandoned. She whines when Jack rolls her sensitive nipple between his fingers.

She turns her head to the side notices the bulge in Jack's pants. She reaches behind her and palms him through his pants. She wants to get her hands on him so she blindly tries to get them unbuckled and unbuttoned. "Jack," she whines. "Off."

He moves off the bed so he can get his pants and boxers off. Nico pulls the dress further down her body as Jack sits on the bed. He pulls her against his chest while he leans back against the headboard. The dress comes off her body and Nico throws it to the floor, joining their shirts.

Nico's hungry eyes are on her when Jack moves her legs apart, exposing her ruined panties to the Devils captain. She can feel her core pulse the longer Nico's eyes are on her.

"Pretty, isn't she?" Jack asks as he tucks (Y/N)'s hair behind her ear. A soft hum comes from Nico as he begins to undress. Her eyes rake his body and she wishes that she could touch him.

Jack's fingers trail down over her jaw and neck, between her breasts and down her belly until they reach the waistband of the lace panties. His lips ghost over the swell of her ear. "You're our pretty girl," Jack whispers in her ear

"Our pretty girl," Nico agrees as he climbs onto the bed.

Our pretty girl. She's theirs. Those three words make her entire body shake.

"Come get a taste, Nico," Jack tells his friend. His fingers dip into her panties and he gathers some of the wetness. She watches as he licks up her arousal. "She's ready, like the good girl she is."

Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip as a now naked and smiling Nico lays on his stomach. He kisses her inner thighs as Jack turns her head. He kisses her at the same time Nico pushes her underwear to the side.

Nico's tongue runs through her folds and she moans into Jack's mouth. She reaches behind her and wraps one of her hands around his dick. Her other hand flies to Nico's hair when he wraps his lips around her clit and his tongue flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She grinds her hips against Nico's mouth, needing more. She needs so much more.

This feels so much better than she ever thought it would be. Her legs are already shaking and they've only just started. Jack's lips on hers and his hands roaming her naked body. Nico's mouth on her clit. It’s a little overwhelming but it feels amazing.

Then Nico pushes a finger inside of her while his mouth is on her. She gasps and does everything she can not to come just from that. "Fuck," she moans against Jack's mouth. "Nico."

His fingers curl inside of her and her back arches off the bed. She knew he could do a lot of things with his fingers. She didn't know he could do this. Jack’s talented with his fingers, but Nico could have her coming in seconds with his.

(Y/N) breaks the kiss and slides down Jack’s body until she can turn her head and get her mouth on his dick. She licks up the bead of precome that has formed on the tip before she wraps her lips around the fire red tip. A soft groan passes his lips when she begins to move her head.

Every so often, Nico will curl his fingers or suck on her clit and she’ll hum or moan around Jack. Her boyfriend will sigh every time she makes a noise around his cock.

Her body can only hold off an orgasm for so long though. No matter how hard she tries.

The next time Nico curls his fingers in a “come here” motion, she’s coming with Jack’s dick in her mouth and Nico’s fingers in her pussy.

She pulls off Jack's cock and cries out as she comes on Nico's fingers without warning. Her legs shake and she pushes herself against Nico's mouth. She swears she blacks out because of how hard and how suddenly her orgasm hits her.

"Fuck, Nico," she whines as she comes down from her sudden high. She feels him licking up her release and soft sighs pass her lips.

The Swiss captain crawls up her body and captures her lips in a deep but rough kiss. She hums as she tastes herself on his lips. (Y/N) Isn't happy when he pulls away. She watches him lick his lips and smile.

"You taste so good, liebling," he says. She shivers at the use of the nickname. "Fuck, I don't think I'll ever get enough."

A barely there (Y/N) mumbles, "Wanna suck you, Nico."

Nico glances up at Jack, who asks, "Think you can take both of us, baby?" She immediately lifts her head to look up at Jack and frantically nods. Jack smiles at her enthusiasm. "Hands and knees then."

Quickly, she rolls over onto her stomach and does what Jack told her to do. The boys switch their positions. Nico kneels on the bed in front of her while Jack kneels behind her.

She takes Nico's cock in her hand and glances up at him. She knew he had to be packing but she didn't know he'd be this big. She shivers at the idea of him inside of her but takes him in her mouth. Nico gathers her hair into a makeshift ponytail as she begins to move her head.

Behind her, Jack pulls off her panties and runs his dick through her folds, over her already sensitive clit. She hums around Nico's dick as Jack presses into her.

It doesn't feel weird to have Nico's dick in her mouth and Jack's dick inside of her at the same time. She always thought that it would be weird, but it's kind of hot. They're both using her to get off and she's perfectly okay with that. There's already another knot forming in her stomach.

Jack thrusts into her and presses his hands into her lower back. Nico has his fingers in her hair and slowly moves his hips so he's fucking her mouth. Her hand makes up for what she can't fit in her mouth.

"Look at you, (Y/N)," Jack says behind her. "Taking both of us. Such a good girl, isn't she, Nico?"

Nico hums above her and she looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Such a pretty girl taking my cock in her mouth," he replies. "Feels so good.

She screws her eyes shut and just feels. She feels Jack's dick moving in and out of her. She feels herself hollow out her cheeks and suck Nico's dick at the same time Jack moves. They're both thrusting their hips into her and she happily takes whatever they give her.

From behind, Jack leans over her body and presses kisses to her shoulder. She whines around Nico's dick when Jack uses his legs to spread hers further apart. The new angle lets Jack move deeper into her.

"You have no idea how hot you look taking both of us," Jack whispers against her ear. "Fuck, baby. We might have to do this all the time. I think you'd like that. Would you like that?" (Y/N) nods with Nico's cock in her mouth. "I knew you'd like that."

When he gets back on his knees, Jack wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her up to her knees. She whines when Nico's dick slips from her mouth but moans at the new angle. She reaches out for Nico as he says, "Look at you, liebling. Look so pretty getting fucked on your knees."

Her eyes are on Nico in front of her while Jack ravishes her neck with kisses and soft bites. She whines and moans as Jack thrusts into her. Nico crawls up and presses their chests together.

He cups her jaw in his hands and runs his thumbs over her cheekbones while Jack fucks her. Her lips are slightly parted and she lets out soft pants while holding eye contact with Nico.

Nico reaches down between them and gets his fingers on her clit as Jack speeds up his thrusts. "Fuck," she cries out at the pleasure. She gets a hand around Nico's dick and pumps him. Nico kisses her as Jack marks up her neck.

Jack's hands slide around to cup (Y/N)'s breasts. He plays with her nipples and she moans his name against Nico's lips.

She's quickly approaching her second orgasm in about twenty minutes. Her free hand flies to Nico's hair and she holds on for dear life. She's shaky on her knees. Nico realizes this and lays on his back in front of her. Jack lets her go and she's back on her hands and knees. His fingers replace Nico's.

With on hand on Nico's thigh and the other on his dick, she gets her mouth back on him. She sucks harsher than she probably should but Nico enjoys it since he's squirming under her touch.

"Gonna come, baby," Jack pants behind her. "Fuck. Can I fill you?" She hums in approval.

As soon as she feels Jack come inside of her, she's coming around him with a moan. Her vision whites out and she isn't sure what happens after that.

She doesn't know when Jack pulls out or when she collapsed on the bed. Jack is nowhere to be found in the room and Nico is hovering on top of her. He’s kissing her neck and he’s bumping himself to his orgasm.

“Nico, baby,” she breathes out. “Come. Use me to come. It’s okay. Do whatever you want.”

“Wanna fuck you,” he admits. “Please. I’ve waited so long to fuck you, liebling. You don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and look pretty. Take me like the good girl you are.”

She nods and whispers a “yeah”. Nico grabs a condom and uses Jack’s come to slip easily inside of her. She gasps as Nico thrusts slowly into her. She winces from the overstimulation but Nico moves carefully so he doesn’t hurt her.

Their eyes meet and suddenly the moment is more intimate than she expected. She has the urge to confess everything she feels for him.

“Nico, I-”

“I know,” he softly says. His fingers brush over her cheekbones. “Me too. Since day one.”

(Y/N) smiles and leans up to capture Nico’s lips in a kiss. It’s a deep kiss, unlike the other kisses they’ve shared. Unlike the kisses she’s shared with Jack tonight.

Nico’s fingers are on her clit again and she’s barreling toward her third orgasm. She doesn’t know how she’s about to come again, but it doesn’t take long since she’s so overstimulated.

He’s right behind her.

She clenches around him and she’s gone for the third time. Her body goes limp at the same time Nico groans and comes into the condom inside of her.

His head falls beside hers and he rolls off of her so he’s laying on the mattress. She’s a panting, tired mess by the time Jack comes back into the room from the bathroom.

(Y/N) looks over at him with her eyes half closed. Jack cleans her up and the mess around her up before he lies down beside her.

“You okay?” Jack questions. “Not too much?”

She looks at her boyfriend before looking at Nico. When she looks back at Jack, she says, “I wanna do it again. Is that okay?”

Jack looks past her at Nico. “As long as you’re okay with it,” Nico tells Jack.

“I didn’t mind,” he says to the both of them. “Next time though, can the two of you wait for me to be in the room before you fuck?”

A laugh passes Nico’s lips and she tiredly smiles.

“Tomorrow.”

They’re all in agreement as they all fall to sleep. Her head is on Jack’s chest and her legs are intertwined with Nico’s under the blanket.

༺═──────────────═༻

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#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes smut #nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier smut #malia’s christmas marathon

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gamesetart · 2 months

Note

In the Open relationship au at one point maybe Art actually asks her to help him out, he’s been aching so much since the talk with Patrick and seeing reader with Tashi didn’t help at all, so she gives him a hand (literally 🫣) and as he is close to reaching his high she makes him pray to god for forgiveness for that sinful act or else there’s no release 😩

ohhh wait yes

because art's been like this for a couple weeks now. needier than before, even after his composure started to slip. genuinely needy. waking up to his hard-on pressing into you, he's half-asleep and he's still needy, still gagging for it, because he just wants you so, so bad. and eventually, he caves. reasons it away to himself, thinks that it'll be alright if it's just your hand, that much he and his god can forgive him of.

you play off your immediate excitement. act concerned - is he sure? you don't want to take advantage of him, is he sure he really wants this? - and when he finally "persuades" you that yes, this is what he wants, you finally get to see his cock for the first time.

and it's pretty, a nice girth, long and very quickly going red at the tip. you were right, you think, he does flush all over. and you kneel in front of him, tell him he needs to spit on your hand so you can stroke him.

"you want me to... spit on you?"

"just on my hand, artie, right here."

he won't admit he enjoyed it, likes the idea of you so sweet and pliant he could spit on you and you'd take it - want it. but you feel his cock throb nonetheless.

he doesn't last very long, but you don't expect him to. you're on your knees, revert, beautiful, and he thinks for a moment about how much like prayer this is, how much like your god this would make him. it's a sinful, prideful thought, and he pushes it away in favour of bucking up into the warm, slick grip of your hand. he's never realised how wet things could be before, his cock rapidly leaking precum, leading to a mess of wet shlick, shlick sounds as you fuck him with your fist.

"fuck, fuck, oh god, baby, 'm close," he whines, "please--"

"don't ask me," you say, slowing your hand, drawing it out. "ask him."

you jerk your head up to the ceiling. he stares at you, eyes wide, cheeks flush, pupils blown, cock throbbing in your hand. even his balls twitch, as if to win your sympathies.

"you're being so bad, after all," you continue in a low voice, giving him a rough stroke, root to tip. your thumb swipes over his slit and he whines. "you should ask for a bit of forgiveness. tell him you're sorry, and ill let you cum."

like art isnt sorry every damn day. like he isn't plagued by sin every time he looks at you. he doesn't have to try to come up with the right words.

"f-forgive me, heav-- ah -- heavenly f-father," he chokes. "for i ha-ah-ve sin-sinned."

you resume your torturously slow hand job. all the breath leaves arts lungs in a single, shaking breath.

"i- i've had lustful feelings and--" his voice breaks. "god, oh, god-- ive been bad, ive been so bad, im so sorry, 'm sorry, im sorry, oh god, please, please, 'm sorry--"

it's like his brain is broken. he knows the words, but his mouth can't form them. he knows this prayer back to front. this very confession. but his tongue is tied, everything lost somewhere on the path from his head to his lips. it's exactly what you were looking for.

"that's a good boy. cum for me, artie."

and he does. all over your hand. his stomach. it's sort of beautiful. take that, you think vindictively. i made him like this. he's mine, now. im his fucking god.

#anon.chat #open relationship au #art donaldson smut #kit.writes

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chefkids · 3 months

Note

thoughts on this article: https://dnyuz.com/2024/06/29/the-bear-jeremy-allen-white-explains-why-carmy-daydreams-of-sydney/

Sorry but I refuse to believe that Carmy finds peace in Sydney because she's just such a wonderful coworker. His panic attack in Season 2 was about his relationship with Claire and his family, nothing at all work related. He was not thinking about "Wow Sydney has some serious cooking skills!" there. He thought of the first time her met her, and when she came back to him when he thought she was gone forever. He has also worked with the best chef's on this planet with far better skills than Sydney, many of whom were calming and supportive presence in his life.

In Season 3 the thing that sets him off is seeing an imagine of meeting Claire in his mind. Then he is reminded of his fight with Richie.

He tries to think of The French Laundry and then Noma to calm down. Then he tries to think of Nat at Marcus's mom's funeral.

And only after that when Sydney talks to him he calms down. He's always stressing about work, in that moment the trigger was Claire, not work, and the peace was Sydney. Not because she is helping him do his job or work, but because her presence brings him peace and pulls him away from what causes him anxiety, which is remembering Claire who is tied in his mind to so much family trauma.

You can't shoot down what was already written! Carmy took Claire to Sheridan Road and Post Office like UPS, those are both tied to Sydney. He made her Sydney's pasta that led to her coming to him. He had a far more intense and passionate moment with her under the table making promises of prioritizing her over his girlfriend, never letting her fail, promising to always be there for her, giving her the most thoughtful gift one could imagine. Far more than he has ever had with Claire.

So what he's trying to say is that they have this deep cosmic connection, intense passion, and she brings him peace and happiness and security but the only thing he could never possibly have is any form of physical attraction towards her? That Sydney can meet all of his emotional needs and work needs and share the same interests and goals and passions. But Claire will always win at the end of the day, in spite of the lack of peace she actually brings him and there being seemingly no actual shared interests between them, because he just wants to sleep with her? Like...

1. I don't buy that Carmy has absolutely no possible interest in Sydney in terms of physical attraction.

2. If that's genuinely the case, and this is all ending with her either leaving forever and Carmy giving up or staying as his calming sidekick while he's endgame Claire, it is basically putting Sydney in some sort of black woman savior trope for him whose purpose is to serve him and his story and his progress while remaining undesirable, while also simultaneously giving her nothing back because he can't uphold any promises to her cause he's too damn busy thinking of Claire.

If they wanted to keep them platonic they could have done so after Season 1 without constantly drawing comparisons between Sydney and Claire and making her everything he wants and needs except being ya know.... his white girlfriend.

#the bear #sydcarmy #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #the bear fx #the bear meta #claire the bear #the bear season 3

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hayleythesugarbowl · 3 months

Note

spencer agnew!

him and his partner are long distance and he surpises them and shows up

Birthday Wishes || Spencer Agnew x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: you and spencer have been long distance for some time now, and he decides he wants to do something special and surprise you for your birthday

word count: 3.2k

warnings: mild language

a/n: ahh i’m so sorry this took me so long to get to but i hope you enjoy it!! i love writing for spencer sm 🎀🫶 also it’s still the 19th where i live so happy bday courtney!! 🎉

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think green is my color?”

“Hello to you too, Spencer,” you spoke into the phone you balanced on your shoulder as you tied your hair up in a towel.

“Hey, small talk can wait. This is a fashion emergency,” Spencer’s voice filled your ear as you wrapped another towel around your body, fiddling with the edges to keep it in place.

“Alright,” you said, “That’s enough Project Runway for you.”

“It’s a good show!”

You giggled, shifting Spencer to your other ear.

“So,” he continued, “What are you doing right now?”

“Right now? Well, I just took a shower and now I’m talking to you,” you told him.

“I don’t want to be one of those guys, but, damn without me?”

“I’m hanging up,” you giggled. “And like you’d fly hundreds of miles just to shower with me.”

“You’d be surprised,” his voice took on a teasing tone, “I do have those frequent flier miles just waiting to be used.”

You and Spencer had been long distance for about two months now. You’d agreed to stay together even though you were going to be moving across the country.

You’d met your boyfriend at work about nine months ago. You’d both been working at Smosh when you began dating and it all took off from there.

First dates, anniversaries, you getting a job opportunity in New York, and now this. Talking to Spencer on the phone no less than three times a day.

It had killed you to leave him. But you’d agreed that this was the best option for both of you. Spencer was almost more invested in your career than you were and you really appreciated him for being so willing to make things work for you.

Now, you set your phone down on the counter and pressed speaker phone as you began to moisturize.

“Don’t you have something better to use those on than one shower?”

“Hey, don’t think this is all about you,” Spencer said. “Your shower has jets. Who wouldn’t fly across the county to use that thing.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully even though Spencer couldn’t actually see you.

“Plus,” he continued, his voice becoming more serious, “I’d get to kiss you.”

And there it was. The one thing you couldn’t do while you and Spencer were miles and miles apart.

No more forehead kisses after a long day at work. No more long embraces that smelled like him. No touching at all.

God, you missed him so much. There was only so much that technology could do.

You sank down on to the counter, letting your elbows prop you up.

“(Y/n), you still there? You’re not watching Runway without me, are you?”

You attempted a weak chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As if sensing your sudden deflation Spencer asked you, “Hey, are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Spence,” you said, tracing the pattern of the countertop with your fingertip as you talked, “I just miss you.”

“I know,” he sighed, “I miss you too. Really freaking bad.”

There was silence between you before Spencer said, “But hey, your birthday is coming up soon. Any plans?”

“Not yet.” You shrugged off his abrupt subject change.

You hadn’t really wanted to do anything for your birthday, not without Spencer. You had tried to squander your roommates attempts at throwing you a party multiple times.

You appreciated her efforts, but you kind of just felt like a quiet evening eating cake in your bathrobe.

“(Y/n), it’s not every day you turn 68,” Spencer teased, “You gotta celebrate these.”

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “And you’re one to talk! On your last birthday you just came to work in your pajamas and made everyone obey that ‘Mountain Dew me’ button.”

“And that was a party! Some people got seriously hammered.”

“Sure,” you agreed, “If by people, you mean you. And by hammered, you mean sugar crashed.”

“Ok, I don’t get shower pics and you’re gonna start correcting me? I’m so out.”

“Wait,” you stopped him, “switch to FaceTime.”

You waited for the image of him to show up on your screen, pulling on the towel wrapped around your drying hair. Spencer’s face appeared suddenly and your heart leapt as you took him in.

He was laying in bed and had his head propped up on one arm, the other holding his phone in his hand as he smiled up at you.

His hair was tousled and he had his glasses on and he looked so damn sexy that you almost forgot what you were intending to do.

“Ok, if you want shower pics so badly…” You flipped your camera and began pretending to take rapid photos of the shower curtain behind you.

“You are so stupid,” Spencer laughed, rubbing his hand over his face before laying it behind his head again.

“And you’re gorgeous,” you said, flipping the camera back to front-facing.

“And you are working that towel.”

You rolled your eyes, walking out of the bathroom and carrying Spencer with you.

You plopped down on your bed, just opening your mouth to speak when you heard someone yell your name from the other side of the apartment.

“(Y/n)! I’m home! And these groceries aren’t going to put away themselves!” Your roommate called.

“That’s Layla,” you huffed, “I better go before she rearranges the whole fridge.”

“I’m going to pretend I’m not hurt,” Spencer clutched his chest in mock injury.

“I’ll call you later tonight, I promise,” you blew him a kiss and stood up from your bed. “I was just about to get dressed anyway.”

And by dressed, you meant your pajamas.

“Dang, I can’t believe I have to miss that,” he said. “‘Sure you can’t just put me on the night stand?”

“Pervert!” You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Woah,” Spencer held his arm up, “I just wanted to see your choice of clothing. You always know how to perfectly match patterns and textures with the undertones of —”

“No more fashion speak!” You giggled, “Goodbye, Spencer.”

“Bye, baby,” Spencer said softly, and the regret in his tone made it hard to hang up. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” you whispered before ending the call. You slumped down onto your bed, letting out a sigh.

“Thank god!”

You whipped around to see your roommate, Layla, standing in the doorway.

“I thought I was gonna have to end that.”

You shook your head at her as she came to sit down next to you on the bed.

“You still need help?” You asked her.

“Nah,” she waved it away, “You lovebirds took too long. If you weren’t so cute together, it’d be hella annoying.”

You smiled. You loved your roommate, brutal honesty and all.

“But now that we’re here, can we talk about your birthday?”

You opened your mouth to protest and she interrupted you.

“I know you’re going to say you don’t want to do anything but please just consider it. Your birthday’s in less than two weeks and you still haven’t let me plan a party.”

“I don’t know, Lay,” you said, for the hundredth time, “I’m just not in a party mood.”

“(Y/n), you can’t spend the rest of your life missing Spencer and talking to Spencer and thinking about Spencer. I get that you love him but maybe a little party would take your mind off things. And your boyfriend would want you to have a good time. What do you say?”

Your best friend had a point. You had been pretty preoccupied with Spencer when you weren’t working or sleeping.

And maybe she was right, maybe a little celebration was what you needed. Spencer had wanted you to do something for your special day.

Besides, your friend was trying to do something nice for you. And the more you thought about it, the more it sounded like it could be an enjoyable experience.

“Alright,” you told her, “Plan away.”

“That’s the spirit!” Layla beamed at you, grabbing your hand before bouncing out of the room, probably to go buy party supplies.

You laid back on the bed, smiling at the ceiling. You were actually excited for the party.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and you reached across the comforter to grab it.

You had two texts from Spencer.

[Spencer] : wait i was actually serious about the green thing though!!

[Spencer] : i’m doing a merch shoot tomorrow and i need to know 🙏

You grinned at the screen, remembering the first part of your phone conversation.

[(Y/n)] : any color is your color babe

[(Y/n)] : but actually go with yellow

You waited for his reply to come, smiling when you read his messages.

[Spencer] : what would i do without you?

[Spencer] : k, i better go. i gotta hit the shower myself (jet-less)

[Spencer] : stay tuned for pics 😉

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Four days. It had been exactly four days since Spencer had stopped answering your calls.

He only responded to your messages with short, generic texts and whenever you asked if he could call he had somewhere he needed to be or something he needed to do.

You tried to be rational—maybe he really had gotten pretty busy at work lately—but you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror, surveying your party outfit and running a hand through your hair, as you though not-so-party-like thoughts.

Today was your birthday and Spencer hadn’t called or even sent you a text. You tried not to let it get to you and instead look forward to the party that was probably already starting in the living room.

You took a deep breath and went to open your bedroom door, but it flew open before you reached the doorknob.

“There you are!” Layla greeted you with a smile, “C’mon, let’s get this party started!”

“Hey,” you put on a smile, trying to not think about Spencer. “I was just getting dressed.”

“Well, you look hot so let’s go,” she grabbed your arm and pulled you down the hall.

You were greeted by a decorated room with streamers and balloons and presents and partygoers milling about, talking and laughing.

You knew about half of the people that Layla had invited and you gave her credit for that—you didn’t know that many people in New York yet. Most of your friends were back in LA.

You got a sharp pain in your chest as you thought about your loved ones back home—especially Spencer.

“I present, the birthday bitch!” Layla announced with a dramatic flourish.

You couldn’t help grinning at her as all of the guests turned to look at you and began clapping.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” you addressed the room.

“And thank you,” you turned to your roommate, “for planning all of this.”

“It was nothing,” she said, “now go enjoy your party!”

And that’s what you tried to do. You spent the whole evening mingling with people and being wished happy birthday and sampling the hors d’oeuvres.

You were enjoying yourself—as much as you could, at least.

You sat down on a bright yellow chair in the corner that Layla had bought a few weeks ago—personally it wasn’t your taste, but she loved it.

Kind of like large parties and giant social gatherings that required you to have nonstop conversations with people you hardly knew.

You pulled your legs up into the chair, sitting criss-cross and hoping no one would notice you taking a quick break from the festivities.

“Told you you’d like this chair eventually.”

You looked up to see Layla standing to your right.

“I guess it’s growing on me,” you said.

She sat on the arm of the chair, pulling your head to rest in her shoulder.

“You can say your miserable, (Y/n)” she said, “I won’t be offended.”

“No,” you shook your head on her shoulder, “I’m not miserable, I promise. I’m just…tired.”

“Spencer still hasn’t called I take it.”

“Nope,” you blew out a breath, “I’ve given up.”

“I don’t know,” she said, standing up. “He might surprise you. You never know what the night may hold.”

“Why the narrator voice?” Your mouth quirked up on one side.

She shrugged, “It’s fun and i never get to use it.”

“Now come on,” your friend began dragging your chair out of the corner and towards the center of the room, “Time to for cake!”

You shrieked as she pulled you through people before abandoning the chair and going to grab a large cake sitting on the counter.

Once candles had been lit and people had been gathered, Layla handed you your cake.

“Alright, make a wish!” she yelled.

That was easy. You knew what you wanted more than anything else. You didn’t even have to think about what you would wish for when you blew the flames out.

Everyone began to sing me happy birthday and you let Layla snap picture after picture.

You knew wishes were stupid and almost never meant anything, but you couldn’t help imagining what it would be like if your wish did come true.

You squeezed your eyes shut and blew out your candles, only thinking of one thing.

I wish Spencer was here.

All the guests erupted into applause and you smiled, hoping your longing didn’t show on your face.

But god you wished Spencer was here.

Everyone finished clapping. The room fell silent for a moment, before—

“I hope you didn’t waste that on me.”

You froze. The voice came from behind you. You almost thought you imagined it, until you turned around.

Because there he was.

You blinked, trying to make sure he wasn’t a figment of your imagination. But this was real.

Spencer was standing in your living room, his hands in his pockets, looking at you how you imagined you were looking at him.

“Now that,” he pointed at your chair, smiling, “is my color.”

And that was all he got out before you were rushing towards him and into his arms.

Spencer wrapped his arms around you, laughing, lifting you from the ground and spinning you in a circle before setting you back down.

The room burst into applause for the second time that night. You almost didn’t notice over the rush in your ears as Spencer embraced you.

He pulled back just enough so that he could cup your face in his hands. “God, I forgot how beautiful you are in person.”

You had so many questions bouncing around in your mind, your thoughts racing.

You settled on the one that encompassed all of them, “How?”

“Well, y’know, there’s some distortion with iPhone cameras so you can’t expect—”

You interrupted him, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, you mean the whole me being in your living room thing?” He shrugged, pulling his hands away from you and back into his pockets, “I kinda flew here.”

Spencer had flown—all the way from Los Angeles—to surprise you. You’d had no idea he was even planning this.

As if reading your thoughts, Spencer said, “I wanted to tell you so bad, but I also wanted to surprise you for your birthday so I sorta ghosted you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, c’mon, you know I would’ve spilled those beans.”

And that explained the not calling or texting you. You couldn’t even feel relieved that he wasn’t mad or breaking up with you because you were so floored and excited that he was here.

He had done this for you.

“Wow, I don’t know what to say Spencer,” you started, wrapping your arms around him again. “As far as gifts go, I’d say you win by a long shot.”

“Hey, I helped!” Layla shouted, putting her hands in her hips, her grin almost as wide as yours.

“Couldn’t have done it without you!” Spencer shouted back before leaning back to kiss you on the forehead, whispering “She let me into the building.”

You put your head on Spencer’s shoulder, letting him hold you. You tried to memorize everything about the way that he felt in your arms. You didn’t want this to ever end.

“So,” Spencer said, his voice rough, “How about that kiss now?”

“I guess since you came all this way…” you trailed off.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, “Because I’ve been waiting to do this since I booked the flight. Turns out I did find a good use for those miles.”

And then his lips where on yours and you forgot how to breathe.

In all the times you had imagined finally kissing Spencer again, nothing was as good as this. This was passionate and starved and full of all of the words you hadn’t said.

This was different than all of the kisses you’d shared before you’d been separated, you thought.

And then Spencer mumbled your name against your lips and you were incapable of thinking at all.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like this until Layla’s voice interrupted you.

“Hey, I’m just as happy as anyone that you’re reunited,” she said, “but please, get a room!”

You and Spencer pulled apart, grinning like idiots. The whole room chuckled.

Spencer pulled you to the side as Layla began rounding people up and gathering decorations.

You caught your best friends eye and mouthed ‘thank you.’

She just smiled and shooed your attention back towards Spencer, pulling down a streamer.

You turned to your boyfriend.

“Well,” he said, “Before we get that room, want to give me a tour of the place?”

“You’ve seen most of my apartment on FaceTime,” you told him. “What’s there to see?”

“Some things can’t be captured over the phone,” he said, his voice becoming more serious. “Some things need to be experienced in person.”

“Spencer, if you’re talking about the shower—” You teased, nudging his shoulder.

But you caught his meaning entirely. And you agreed wholeheartedly.

“Hey that shower is a piece of art! And how little you think of me,” Spencer smiled, continuing, “I was going to wait until you showed me the bathroom before I made that joke.”

“Spencer?” You got out, through your laughter as you led him down the hall.

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much.”

“Well, I should hope so,” he shot back, “Otherwise, I spent five hours on a plane—which didn’t serve Mountain Dew, by the way—getting kicked in the back for nothing.”

You shook your head at him lovingly.

“And yeah,” he finished, “I love you too. More than Mountain Dew and Project Runway.”

You kissed him on the cheek, continuing to pull him down the hallway.

“I meant to ask,” Spencer broke the silence, “What did you wish for?”

“You,” you said, pausing. “I wished for you. All I want is you.”

“I don’t want to say ditto, but I couldn’t agree more,” Spencer teased. “All I’ve ever wanted is you….and maybe one shower.”

“Spencer!”

“Six jets! There are six jets in there, (Y/n)! Why does nobody get this?”

You just giggled and ran down the hall, leaving him chasing after you. You couldn’t stop smiling. This was the best birthday you could have ever wished for.

You rounded the corner, Spencer still calling after you, just a few feet behind you. Right behind you. Here. Yours.

“Six jets and a heated seat!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed my loves!! stay tuned for more spencer fics coming soon 💋🎀

also bonus text convo 🤭 —>

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew texts #smosh #smosh x reader #smosh imagine #smosh fanfiction #smosh games #smoshblr #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader

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desideriumwriter · 3 months

Text

Anyone But You | Chapter 7

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers + hurt/comfort

Content Warnings - cursing, mentions of nightmares

Word Count - 3.0k

A/N: this one feels a bit rushed and all over the place, but hey there's some slight warming up heree

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous | Next | Navi

You already had a bad feeling about this year.

Firstly, you were late to the train, then you couldn’t find Cedric in any of the booths so you had to sit in one by yourself. Your arm was still sore if you put it in a certain position. You couldn’t get in a comfortable enough position to sleep in the booth.

So you just laid on your back on the cushion, your feet up on the wall next to the window. You stared at the ceiling of the train, tracing the patterns with your eyes.

The door of your booth slid open, you raised your head and looked up a bit too happily, hoping it would be Cedric.

All you got was a mop of ginger hair standing there.

“Mind if I take a seat?” Fred grinned.

You sighed and dropped your head back down on the seat. You didn’t want to talk to him, but you didn’t want to be alone the rest of the ride back to the school.

Not giving him a verbal response, you lazily gestured to the seat across from you, signaling for him to go ahead. It didn’t matter, he was going to sit down even if you said no.

He shut the door and sat happily.

“I was wondering why Cedric wasn't sitting with you.” He laid his back against the wall, putting his feet up on the seat.

“You saw him? Where?” You looked over.

“Sitting with Ms.Chang.” He said in a dramatically eloquent voice.

Great.

“He’s got a damn obsession with that girl.” You huffed as you rolled your eyes, looking back at the ceiling.

“How’s your arm?” Fred said awkwardly, picking at his nails.

“Better. I think.” You sighed, you were bored, you were tired, you didn’t want to deal with Fred, but you didn’t want to be alone.

“That’s good. How many more weeks til it’s off?”

“Fred.” You said flatly.

“Hm?” He turned his attention to you, brushing back some hair from his eyes.

“Why are you here?” You stared at him.

“Thought you’d like some company.” He shrugged. You only stared at him, knowing that was not the reason.

“Well, George is talking to Angelina, and I thought I’d at least bother you on our first day back.” He cracked.

“You’re doing a great job.” The annoyance in your tone was clear, yet that was probably the nicest thing you’ve said to him. Ever.

Fred let out a small hum as he sat up quickly, pulling his backpack from off the floor and taking something out of it.

“Well, I was thinking about your broken arm, and that gigantic cast must be no help with writing, so…” He presented a long, rectangular, orange box with a purple ribbon tied around it to you. “I made you something that might actually help you.”

You pulled yourself up, looking at the box and taking it from him slowly.

He nervously smiled as you unwrapped it and took the lid off.

Inside the box laid a quill, with several small bottles of different colored inks.

“It’s a self writing quill.” Fred beamed.

“What?”

“A self-writing quill.” He emphasized each word slowly. “You tell it what you want it to say and it’ll write it for you.” He shrugged, crossing his arms smugly.

“That’s…impressive.” You began to smile, biting it back once you realized it could just be another one of the twins' sick pranks. “Does it actually work? Or are you just tricking me?” You glared.

“It works. Just like the bruise cream did.” He smirked. He noticed, all your bruises were gone by now, thanks to the cream. “You can try it out right now if you want to.” So you did.

You took a piece of paper out of a notebook in your bag, carefully opened and dipped the quill in a bottle of ink and spoke aloud.

“Fred Weasley is an asshole.” You said happily, the quill floated up and began to write the same words all by itself, the handwriting was exactly the same as yours, creepy, but cool.

You hummed in satisfaction at the writing.

“Not bad, Weasley.” He shrugged and laid down on the seat. He placed his backpack under his head and crossed his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable.” He looked around, confused.

“You’re not staying in my booth! Go somewhere else!” You scoffed in disbelief, no way did he think you’d willingly let him stay with you.

“There is nowhere else.”

“Sit with George!” You cried.

“I don’t want to deal with him and Angelina flirting the entire ride.” He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want to deal with you the entire ride!”

“If you’re so bothered by it, why don’t you find someone else to sit with? What about Cedric?”

“I got here first, you’re not gonna kick me out of my own booth!” You said sternly, like an angry mother, “Plus, I don’t want to deal with Cedric and Cho flirting the entire ride!” The side of Fred’s mouth slightly curled up at your last sentence. It took you a second to realize.

You two were basically in the same situation.

“Fine. You can stay.” You muttered, sinking back against the cushion. Fred began to open his mouth, but you pointed a finger up and stopped him.

“But, you will not talk to me. You will not play any pranks on me. And you will not bother me.” You clenched your jaw, he just smiled.

“As you wish.” He nodded, pulling out his scarf and placing it over his eyes, starting to nap right there.

You decided to try and do the same. It was fine and peaceful, you were on the verge of knocking out until he started snoring.

He would snore for a little bit, then stop, then snore again, then stop, and the cycle repeated.

Godric, you tried to ignore it, you tried to block it out, but ignoring Fred Weasley is impossible.

You called out his name, trying to get him to wake up, but he was dead asleep. He looked peaceful, so comfortable you almost didn’t want to wake him, but he was pissing you off.

You huffed out before grabbing the piece of parchment you tested the quill on earlier, you crumpled it into a ball and threw it at him.

It hit him right in the nose then fell onto the side of his neck.

He groggily removed the scarf from his eyes and blinked a few times, sitting up slightly and looking around with squinted eyes.

“Are we there already?” He rubbed his eyes.

“No.”

“Then why’d you wake me?”

“You were snoring. Loudly.” You stared at him with a straight face.

“Oh come on, I was not.”

“Was so!” You called back.

“I do not snore, you liar!.” He grimaced.

“Yes you do! You had your mouth wide open and everything!” You chuckled a bit.

“You looked like a dead fish!” You copied his pose from a few minutes ago, you slumped your head on your backpack, hung your mouth open, closed your eyes, and mocked his snoring.

“Oh, you’re just being ridiculous.” He laughed and threw the crumpled paper ball back at you. “Always dramatizing everything I do.”

“I don’t dramatize it! You’re just dramatic.” You laughed in return, throwing the ball at him again.

“Always so criticizing!” It became a battle between you two, bantering and laughing while throwing the ball back and forth at each other.

Soon the both of you got tired of messing around, you both laid in the same position on the seats. Backpacks under your head, feet up on the seat, arms crossed comfortably.

You yawned. It was getting dark and there were still a few more hours before you arrived at Hogwarts.

“I’m going to sleep. No pranks.” You threatened him. He lifted up his hands in surrender.

“No pranks.” He repeated. “But, I’ll see if you snore.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side and closing your heavy eyelids.

The screech of the metal wheels hitting the train tracks made you slightly stir in your sleep.

Two hands roughly shaking you fully woke you up.

“Hey, hey!” Fred called out, his voice still quiet, trying not to yell. You groaned and muttered, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“We’re here. Get up, sleepyhead.” He patted your shoulder, his bag was already hanging off one shoulder, you could see the students shuffling through the aisles.

You sat up and stretched, Fred had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What are you smiling so hard about?” You muttered.

“You’re a snorer.” He pointed at you, trying to stifle his grin.

“Am not!” You denied, grabbing your bag and shoved yourself in between students trying to get off the train. Fred followed suit.

“Oh you absolutely are. You go out like an old man!” He chuckled, beginning to make loud and dramatic snoring sounds.

You elbowed him in the side, he let out a small yelp and laughed some more, you bit back your smile, moving in front of him to walk down the train steps.

You made your way to get your luggage, only turning once towards Fred to get a final bite back at him.

“You drool. Did you know that?” You let out a playful scoff at him, a smile on your face and turning back around to walk away.

⋆⋆⋆

You hurried up the marble staircase to the entrance of the school. You were starving, all you wanted was something to eat and somewhere comfortable to sit.

A call of your name slowed you down, you turned your head to find Cedric catching up next to you.

“Cedric! Where were you? I couldn’t find you on the train!” You tried to mask over the frustration in your voice with sweetness, damn well knowing

“Really? Cause’ I was looking for you and um- I couldn’t find you anywhere!” He acted surprised.

“Hm, you wanna know who I was stuck with on the train-“ Your incoming rant was cut off when a large water filled balloon came speeding your way, hitting the ground and bursting at your feet.

You gasped as a small wave of cold water splashed onto your shoes and into your socks. You groaned and cursed.

Malicious laughter appeared from above you. You looked up to see Peeves the Poltergeist taking aim again at another group of students, McGonagall's voice boomed as she screamed his name, commanding him to get down as she chased after the ghost.

“Aw that’s a shame! We just witnessed Ron get hit with one right on the head!” George’s voice appeared from the side of you, laughing with Fred next to him.

“Better your feet than face!” Fred added on before George and him hurried on, shuffling through the crowd. You just rolled your eyes and grimaced.

Cedric’s attention was already turned to someone farther up in the crowd, Cho. Of course. He pardoned himself and promised to catch up with you more later, pushing past the crowd and speeding up next to Cho.

You uncomfortably continued on through the torch lit halls, cringing at the way your shoes squeaked with every step you took, until you were finally able to drop into a seat at the large wooden table in the Great Hall.

You were welcomed to sit by Katie Bell, who was sitting by Angelina, who was sitting across from the twins.

You could never get away from those bastards, could you?

You accepted the spot anyways, you’d rather have some type of company than none. Katie had always been kind to you anyways.

Dinner went nicely, the first years were sorted, you ate, compared your course schedules with Katie, finding out you had Charms with her and unfortunately Potions with the twins. Again. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher was introduced and the Triwizard Tournament was announced.

You saw as the twins' faces lit up in awe as the winning prizes were announced.

“A thousand galleons! You realize what with a thousand galleons!” George said, nearly bouncing up and down in his seat.

“Oh I’m going for it! I’m going for it!” Fred whispered excitedly.

"Eager though I know all of you will be," Dumbledore continued on, "the heads of the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are seventeen years or older will be allowed to put forward their names." His voice was soon wiped out by several students that had made groans and noises of outrage, especially the twins.

Their expressions of excitement had changed into fury. They began to shout.

“That’s rubbish!” The twins exclaimed in unison, the room was filled

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Fred booed.

Dumbledore's voice shouted for silence and continued on with his speech. You looked at the displeased faces of the twins, you almost wanted to laugh at their scowls.

"They can't do that!" muttered George, glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?" He groaned.

"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also frowning.

After Dumbledore was finished with the announcement, he dismissed everyone to bed. You walked with Katie and Angelina, trailing behind the twins, who were already speaking in hushed tones of a plan to get in the tournament.

⋆⋆⋆

The next few days were tiring, you were stuck once again in Snape's class with the twins, and you already had a large load of work to do with other classes.

The twins seemed to be giving you a break from being a victim of their tricks, too busy with whatever their plan was to get their names in the cup.

The quill they gave you came surprisingly in handy. However, not wanting their help, you still attempted to write by yourself, though your writing would come out messy.

You were just counting down the days until you could get that stupid cast off.

You'd lost count of how long it’s been since you haven't had a nightmare about that night. It was constant. Being scared awake in the middle of the night by your own dreams.

Tonight you weren’t able to sleep at all, especially after the horrid dream you had. Instead of continuing to toss and turn in bed, you decided to go down into the common room, maybe the fireplace would provide some comfort.

You were met with a mop of ginger hair, one of the twins already sitting on the sofa, a sketchpad in front of him.

Dammit.

You didn’t mean to sigh out loud, grabbing the attention of Fred. Who stopped and whipped his head around. His expression was a mix of surprise and confusion.

“Trying to sneak out?” Fred asked.

“Had a bad dream. Can’t sleep.” You said flatly as you began walking over to the sofa. There was no point in going back upstairs. You’d be stuck awake either way.

You sunk down into the empty side, criss crossing your legs.

“What’re you doing awake? Planning your next horrific prank?”

“Coming up with a new idea.” Fred grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “See for yourself.” He handed his sketchpad to you.

You took it hesitantly, only to be surprised by the detailed potion bottle drawn on the parchment.

You were utterly shocked, this was like a renaissance painting compared to the shit he drew for Snape's homework.

"You made this?” Fred shrugged and nodded. “This is fantastic…" You trailed off, taking in the well put in effort.

“Was that a compliment I heard?” He sounded genuinely surprised as his face lit up into a mischievous grin.

“Oh shove it. You can draw this but not a cabbage?” You scoffed, tossing his sketchpad in his lap.

It felt wrong to be talking so casually with him. So nice. You should be spitting insults at him right now, you should be being meaner, maybe you’re just too sleepy to bother.

“You know, I’m surprised you weren’t sorted into Slytherin with how crude you are.”

“I’m not crude! You’re just bloody annoying.” You huffed.

“Cabbage are boring to draw anyways. It’s fun when it’s original and something fantastic.” He grinned, using your niceness against you.

“You just can’t help it, can you?” You shook your head as you gave him an unamused look.

“Help what?”

“Being full of yourself.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be full of me?” He smirked, a dramatic seductive tone in his voice.

“God, you’re gross!” You grimaced. “Merlin, do not make me stab you with a pencil again.” You muttered to yourself, you could feel your eyes drooping and your body felt heavier.

You yawned before shifting in your soft, curling up and resting your head on the leather armrest.

“How’s your arm?”

“Better.” You said flatly.

“What was your dream about?”

“Nothing good.” Fred let out a small hum, taking the hint that you weren’t up for talking anymore.

The room was silent except for the sounds of fire crackling and Fred shifting in his spot.

“I can leave you be if you’d-” Fred began as he sat up, gathering his sketchpad and pencils.

“No, you can stay!” You cringed at how your voice pipped as you lifted your head up, you sounded way too eager, too desperate. Fred must’ve noticed it too, he looked at you with complete confusion, shocked you weren’t trying to shoo him away for once.

“I just…I don't want to be alone tonight.“ You mumbled, it came out more depressing than you meant for it to sound. You cringed at how pathetic it sounded.

“Well, we can just sit here for a while, okay?” There was a change in his demeanor, one you’ve never seen before. Such a soft tone, a reassuring look in his eyes.

“Okay.” You agreed silently, laying your head back down. Fred eventually went back to sketching. You stared at the blooming fire as your eyelids fell heavier and heavier. Eventually drifting off to sleep.

You awoke a few hours later, it was early morning, the sun just above to make its first appearance for the day.

The spot on the couch next to you was empty. There was a blanket draped over your body and a few chocolates sitting at the small table right in front of you.

tell me what you thought!

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley x gryffindor!reader #anyone but you fic #anyone but you

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